


When I grow rich

by o0Anapher0o



Series: And now and then a white elephant [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Chinese Communists, Church Bells, Established Relationship, Follow the money, Mr Butler Angel Incarnate, Multi, Post-Canon, dating detectives, lots of construction work, the pesky matter of public appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 42,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0Anapher0o/pseuds/o0Anapher0o
Summary: When Lin Chung’s grandmother asks Phryne to investigate one Mark Tomlinson for her, Phryne is intrigued. Matters become even more interesting when Mr Tomlinson ends up falling from a church tower during Sunday mass.Set in the Australian autumn of 1930. Everyone’s back from abroad and Phryne and Jack have (mostly) sorted themselves out. This is primarily a case fic, with a bit of phracking sprinkled in.





	1. Bullseyes and targets

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write an old-fashioned, Agatha Christie style whodunit. I wasn't originally going to do much on Phryne/Jack, but those characters just refused to put their lives on hold. So there will be more Phrack in later chapters. Can’t say I regret it. 
> 
> All characters, events and quotes you might recognise from a screen belong to Every Cloud Production (unless otherwise cited). Everything else is absolutely mine.  
> The title and chapter titles come from the Bells of London nursery rhyme in a slightly older version than the commonly known one (because it has more lines). 
> 
> Unfortunately there’s no Beta for this, so please excuse all mistakes. The ones I’m aware of I’ll comment on at the bottom.

Throughout the drive Phryne kept mulling over her lingering surprise about who her employer in this case was. She had done so all of the previous day while starting her investigation, mostly research at this point, but it still felt strange to think about it. When Granny Lin had appeared at the kitchen door that morning she had expected nothing less than the news than Lin Chung had left for Shanghai to move back to his wife’s family, topped up with the accusation that it was all her fault somehow. Instead the old woman had, in no uncertain terms, demanded she take on a case.  
Phryne could appreciate just how much it must have cost the matriarch to come to her of all people. After all the two of them had never really seen eye to eye, so she had an idea just how important this matter was to her and she could almost disregard the exceptional rudeness with which Grandma Lin had treated her, even as she asked for her help. “You are fox spirit.” she had repeated her statement from the beginning of Phryne’s relationship with Lin Chung.  
“You destroy men. Destroy the right man.”  
The right man, according to Grandmother Lin was Mark Tomlinson, filthy rich industrial, one of the most eligible bachelors in Melbourne. Phryne seemed to remember having made his superficial acquaintance at one or the other social event, probably pushed on her by her Aunt Prudence, but he had left no more than a fleeting impression. Now she was on her way to properly meet him at his home. To nobodies surprise he turned out to be a neighbour of Aunt P’s.  
The house was slightly bigger than her aunts but not quite as elegantly proportioned. A slightly dishevelled butler opened after her forth knocking. Well, good staff was hard to come by these days, so she wasn’t going to judge anyone by not having been lucky enough to find Mr Butler.  
“Phryne Fisher.” she introduced herself. “I’m here to see Mr. Tomlinson. I have an appointment.”  
It seemed to take the man a few seconds to understand her words, then he shuddered. “I’m so sorry Miss, it seems you are too late.”

Even Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had to flinch slightly at the sight of the body on the ground. The angles in which his limbs stuck out of his torso were just too uncomfortable to look at. He let his eyes wander up the spire. It was the only completed one so far and a large area surrounding the church was roped off as ongoing construction site. A good thing, he surmised when looking back to the crowd that had gathered on the side of the entrance and was hardly contained by three police constables. As Hugh had informed him, it had been in the middle of morning mass, when the gathered congregation had been disturbed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. And on a Sunday no less.  
“Why am I here Collins?” he asked his Senior Constable. “Is there any reason to treat this as a suspicious suicide?”  
Hugh turned a shade or two darker. Apparently there was and there wasn’t.  
“He was a catholic, Sir.” he pointed out a little insecurely. “And the Vicar is rather insistent.” he added.  
Jack nodded understanding. Dealing with the church was always a tricky matter and their superiors would expect them to double and triple check everything was in order.  
“Was he a member of this church?” he asked.  
Before Hugh could even nod they both heard a familiar voice over the noise of the crowd:  
“JACK!”  
The two policemen exchanged a look that was not quite surprise, then shrugged in perfect synchronicity.  
“Now it’s definitely a suspicious suicide.” Jack commented as he turned around and signalled the officer doing crowd control to let her through.  
“Miss Fisher. Let me guess, the deceased was an old friend?” he greeted her with that almost invisible smile at the corner of his mouth that gave her the almost irresistible urge to grin back at him, despite the teasing.  
“I’ll have you know Inspector, that not every eligible bachelor in this city is an old friend of mine. Mr Thomilson certainly wasn’t. Not for lack of trying on Aunt P’s part though. I was however scheduled to meet him this morning only to be informed by his butler that he had died at church.”  
Jack nodded, so that had been the appointment that had gotten her out of bed so early they could actually for once have breakfast together. She tried to get a peek at the body.  
“Are you sure you really want to see that?” he asked quietly.  
She gave him a confused look. He didn’t normally try to protect her from the sight of blood. Not that she gave him much chance to, but he usually didn’t feel the need to either. He knew she had probably seen worse during the war.  
“It’s really not a pretty sight. And not much to see otherwise.” he added by way of explanation but stepped aside anyways.  
“It seems odd that he would schedule an appointment if he intended to kill himself.” he stated at his normal volume while she lifted the shroud to take a look. She shuddered at the sight.  
“You would think so.” she agreed.  
“May I ask what this meeting was about?”  
“I was asked to investigate some of Mr Tomlinson’s business dealings. But I’ve only just started my investigation, Jack.”  
He nodded, even though he knew that usually meant she was already three steps ahead of him.  
“Who hired you?” he started to try and catch up.  
Business dealings weren’t usually an area that interested her, so he guessed it would have to be someone she cared about. She came back to him, a sly smile on her face.  
“A very well regarded member of the Chinese community.”  
Jack frowned. “Mr Lin?”  
He hadn’t known they still associated since Lin Chung had married, although he knew that Phryne was quite fond of his wife Camellia and had invited her to the Adventuress‘ Club where they kept in touch. But if Lin had an investigation to conduct it seemed logical he would come to her, no matter what their relationship was these days. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t like the man and to be perfectly fair it wasn’t truly Lin Chung’s fault either. However the amused twinkle in her eyes told him there was more to it.  
She leaned in a little and whispered conspiratorially: “His grandmother.”  
Now that was a surprise. Jack had never met the woman in question, but he had heard a great deal about her.  
“I thought she didn’t like you?”  
“She doesn’t.“ Phryne replied. “She made that abundantly clear. But she still hired me.”  
“Must be a serious matter then.”  
She nodded thoughtfully. “It seems so.”  
“So what did you know about the deceased?” he kept probing.  
Her playful attitude instantly returned and she numbered her facts as if she were reciting a police report.  
“Mark Tomlinson, 42, bachelor, sole owner of Tomlinson Ltd. One of the twenty wealthiest men in Victoria, of last year at least. His family made a fortune with goldmines in the fifties and sixties, although I haven’t managed to figure out all the details yet on what his company does these days. Mostly housing, I believe. He converted to Catholicism after the war. Quite the scandal at the time, but didn’t really hurt his prospects when it came to marriages.”  
“And yet he never married.” Jack noted.  
Phryne shrugged. “Some of us aren’t made for matrimony.” she replied before ploughing on: “He seems to have quite a few houseguests at the moment. I saw a lot of cars in the driveway when I was there. Maybe we should talk to them before they take to flight.”  
Jack nodded conceding. “I’ll send Collins ahead. But I want to talk to the Vicar first.”

The Vicar, Father Benjamin Morris, turned out to be a small middle aged man who fidgeted with a rosary and tended to lower his voice to a stage whisper when he got nervous. When he didn’t, he had a very pleasant voice that carried rather nicely through the nave of the church where the detectives had found him.  
“Terrible thing, terrible.” he muttered. “And I’d only seen him yesterday.”  
“Did he seem normal to you?” Jack asked eyes flickering between his notebook and his witness.  
“Yes. A little agitated maybe. Something about having guests I think. Nothing that would indicate… Oh Lord.” The man crossed himself but then caught himself and looked Jack directly into the eyes.  
“You mustn’t believe he did that to himself. He would never do that, he had faith. Besides he wanted to come in for confession on Monday. He wouldn’t do that if he had meant to…“ he couldn’t bring himself to say the word.  
“Were you his confessor?” Jack asked.  
Morris shook his head. “Mr Tomlinson confessed to the Bishop himself.” he told them.  
Phryne raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. It fitted with the image she had so far formed of the dead man in her mind. Only the best would do. But she could feel Jack scowl next to her. Cases involving the Bishop and the Catholic Church in general still left a bitter aftertaste for both of them, but for Jack more than her. As far as she knew the investigation into all of George Sanderson’s cases was still ongoing even almost a year after his initial arrest. The mention of the Bishop seemed to send Father Morris into another shock as well.  
“Oh dear lord, the Bishop.” he whispered. “What am I gonna tell the Bishop?”  
“He’s not here, is he?” Miss Fisher asked. “You were conducting the service this morning?”  
The vicar nodded.  
“He’s in Canberra at the moment, trying to convince the government to help us finish building the church. You may know the matter is quite close to his heart and we’re still struggling with the financial aspect. Mr Tomlinson was very helpful in that regard.”  
“So he donated to the church?” Jack inquired while he took a proper look at the interior of the structure for the first time.  
He knew St Patrick’s Cathedral had been under construction for decades, the building process constantly interrupted due to a lack of funds. He remembered seeing the bare nave of the church on his bike rides as a boy. Not much had changed since then, other than the rise of the one spire. At least on the outside.  
“Yes. Mr Tomlinson was very generous.” The Vicar nodded eagerly.  
“How would he have gotten up to the tower?” Miss Fisher asked. “Is it locked?”  
“Only during the ringings, Miss. It’s not like we expect this kind of thing.”  
“Do you know if anyone had a grudge against Mr Tomlinson, Mr Morris?” Jack cut in.  
The man’s eyes widened.  
“You think someone might…? Off the cathedral spire?” The vicar’s voice dropped to a nearly inaudible level.  
“Mere routine question, as the circumstances aren’t completely clear yet.” Jack assured him.  
Father Morris took a deep breath. “Of course, of course. I can’t say I’d know, though. He was well regarded in the community, very generous towards the church, close friend of the Bishop, but I wouldn’t know anything about his social life. He was very rich though.” he added almost like an afterthought.

There wasn’t much more the poor man could tell them at the moment. Jack had to admit he didn’t have much more to ask him either at this stage of the investigation. So far he had to agree with him though. There was something distinctly odd about an apparently devout catholic jumping off a church tower during Sunday mass, after having made several plans for the coming week.  
“It doesn’t fit, Jack.” Phryne articulated what he had been thinking.  
“It doesn’t.” he agreed.  
“Do you think he was pushed off that tower?” she asked.  
“That would still beckon the question what he did up there in the first place, when he was supposed to be meeting you here.”  
They arrived at the mansion quicker than Jack was sure was legal, but Hugh had taken the police car when he had send him ahead, so he had little choice but to go with Phryne in the Hispano.  
“Why do you think he was meeting you here anyways at a time when he was supposed to be at mass?”  
“He wasn’t.” she admitted as she got out of the car.  
“Our appointment was for after. I may have arrived a tad early.”  
“Hoping to get the chance to snoop around a little, Miss Fisher.” he teased good-naturedly.  
Of course she had.  
“A Lady doesn’t snoop, Jack.” she rebutted him with a mock pout.  
“No, of course not.” he almost grinned. “You just happen to come across things that just jumped out of locked drawers, right into your waiting hands.”  
She gave him a sly smile. “Well, that’s the least I’d expect of them, Inspector.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did do a bit of research for this, though most of it rather quick and dirty (aka thank you Wikipedia). But I did get the basic facts, I think, and then I decided to ignore them. I just fell in love with St Patrick’s during said research and it just had to be that church, so I tweaked the timeline a bit:  
> The construction of St Patrick’s cathedral began in 1858 and the nave was completed within ten years. Which was also roughly the first time they ran out of money. That kept happening, as it does with all good churches. I’m not sure why it took until 1897 for the church to be consecrated, but it was and was definitely used as a place of worship since. Unfortunately for me and this little story the spires were only commissioned in 1936 and finished (all three at the same time) in ’37. I went off the book there a little.  
> While we’re on historic accuracies: The Bishop of Melbourne would of course have been (and still is) an Archbishop (Archbishop Mannix at the time, to be precise, also very fascinating character, historically), but I didn’t think that would translate into everyday language and the show seems to agree (cf. Unnatural Habits).


	2. Two sticks and an apple

It turned out Mr Tomlinson had indeed entertained a party of houseguests. When Hugh greeted them in the hall, he reported on four visitors:  
“There’s Mr and Mrs Alec Beauford, Mr David Madden and a Mr Edward Tevis.” he reported. “Mr and Mrs Beauford are waiting in the parlour for you Sir; Mr Madden excused himself to his room after… the news. And I didn’t get to talk to Mr Tevis yet, Sir. He hasn’t come down yet.” The young man looked a little sheepish.  
Jack threw a glance at his watch and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. It was past one pm by now.  
“Oh, don’t worry Hugh. Ned never gets up before three if he can help it.” Miss Fisher consoled the constable.  
“You know Mr Tevis?” Jack asked, not at all surprised.  
“He used to be a friend of my cousin Guy’s. You remember him?”  
“I do Miss Fisher.”  
How could Jack forget Prudence Stanley’s second son and his wife who had celebrated their engagement in Melbourne? A party that he remembered for a multitude of reasons and only one was the return of Murdoch Foyle.  
“Well, let’s make due with the ones we have here then, for now.” he suggested, decidedly pushing aside any thoughts about Egyptian queens and Roman soldiers for the moment.

Mr and Mrs Beauford were an elegant couple in their forties, not unknown to Phryne, at least by reputation. When the detectives entered the parlour they were deep in a murmured conversation, but looked up immediately.  
Laura Beauford was a stunning woman. Jack imagined she must have been breathtaking as a girl. She didn’t seem to have any edges; everything was soft curves and smooth lines. Her face was elegantly framed by silky chestnut waves and the eyes that turned from her husband to the Inspector were the warm colour of hazel. There was an effortless, yet controlled grace to her movement, even as she was clearly affected by the morning’s events.  
“Did Mark really kill himself?” she asked before any of them could introduce themselves.  
Her husband gently squeezed her hand.  
“You must excuse my wife” he said. “She’s rather upset. Mark was an old friend of hers.”  
He got up and held out his hand to Miss Fisher.  
“Alec Beauford. This is my wife, Laura.”  
“Phryne Fisher and this is Inspector Robinson.”  
Phryne took his hand and shook it. He was a good looking man, she observed. Mediterranean type, with skin that had a light tinge towards olive and warm, dark eyes behind his spectacles. There were a few white threats in his otherwise pitch black hair, but even with his glasses, he looked younger than he probably was, and she found herself glancing appreciatively at his strong jaw and prominent cheekbones.  
“The coroner has yet to determine the cause of death.” Jack answered Mrs Beauford’s initial question rather hesitantly.  
“But surely, if he killed himself…” she started.  
“Have you a reason to believe he would revert to such measures?” Jack asked carefully.  
Mrs Beauford took a deep breath clearly trying to regain her composure  
“No. None other than what your Constable, Collins was it? said. I still can’t believe it.” she declared.  
“It seems somewhat unlike Mark.” Her husband agreed.  
“So he didn’t behave unusual last night?”  
Both shook their heads.  
“Not at all.” Laura stated. “He was the life of the party as usual.”  
“What did you celebrate?” Phryne inquired.  
Alec shrugged. “It was just a dinner party, Mark had invited us and offered us to stay the night. He seemed to have some plans for today.”  
“So there wasn’t any specific occasion for your meeting?” Jack asked.  
“No. Not that I’m aware. Mark just liked inviting people.”  
“Would you know if anyone held a grudge against Mr Tomlinson?” The Inspector continued.  
Beauford frowned. “So he didn’t jump?”  
Phryne didn’t miss that he instinctively took up his wives hand.  
“Merely routine questions at this point.” Jack assured him with his usual detachment.  
“But you wouldn’t ask, if there wasn’t a chance…” Mrs Beauford took another deep breath. “There is a possibility someone pushed him?”  
“We’re just trying to consider all options at the moment, Mrs Beauford.”  
The couple exchanged another look. Phryne had to admit she found the obvious intimacy between the two rather intriguing. A small part of her wondered if this was similar to what she had with Jack looked like to other people. Exchanged looks, silent conversations, instinctive reaching out to the other were all things she had noticed herself doing whenever Jack was around and had been doing a long time before he had declared himself.  
“There was a man just leaving, when we arrived yesterday afternoon.” Alec stated carefully. “Chinese, factory worker from the looks of it. He seemed agitated.”

At that point the interview was interrupted by an elegantly and, as Jack noted, expensively dressed man, about Phryne’s age, who entered the parlour.  
“Do you think it would be possible for that Butler to produce a cup of half decent coffee?” he asked the world in general, before noticing the two detectives.  
“Phryne, dear.” he turned and put on a charming smile. “How are you? How is your aunt? Holding it together?”  
“Ned.” Miss Fisher and the man, who Jack assumed to be Edward Tevis, exchanged brief air kisses.  
“Aunt P is doing fine, all things considered, thank you.”  
Ned nodded graciously. “She’s a tough nut our Mrs Stanley. Shame about Arthur. Never understood the problem Guy had with the lad.”  
Phryne decided not to comment on that and instead introduced Jack and Ned to each other. Tevis raised an eyebrow.  
“You’re here professionally?” he observed. “What happened?”  
“Unfortunately Mr Tomlinson was found dead this morning.”  
“Mark? Dead? How?” Ned seemed genuinely shocked.  
“It appears Mr Tomlinson suffered a fatal fall off the completed spire of St Patrick’s Cathedral.” Jack explained.  
Tevis’ eyebrows rose even higher. “Someone threw Mark off the tower of his church?”  
Now it was Jack raising an eyebrow.  
“You don’t assume suicide Mr Tevis?” he asked.  
Ned blinked a few seconds. “He jumped? You’re right, I didn’t even… I suppose with you being here, I just assumed… Suicide? Are you sure? I wouldn’t have thought Mark the type.”  
“So you didn’t notice any unusual behaviour last night either Mr Tevis?”  
Ned shook his head emphatically. “None what so ever, Inspector. He seemed to have quite the day planed for today and he was all smiles and cheers yesterday.”  
“Who do you think would want Mr Tomlinson dead?” Jack continued.  
Tevis shrugged. “There’s got to be someone. You don’t get to be that filthy rich and not have enemies.”  
His eyes widened for a second. “Do you think maybe he was skint? Wouldn’t be the only one these days.”  
He turned to the Beaufords. “You must know something Laura, darling. You’ve known him for ages.”  
Laura Beauford shook her head slowly. “He never talked about business to me.” she said.  
“How long did you know Mark Tomlinson?” Phryne asked conversationally.  
“We were friends since we were young. Before the war.” Laura said somewhat hesitantly before she smiled a little apologetically.  
“I think my parents were quite fond of the idea that he might marry me. Of course Mark never thought of such a thing. So when that became clear they were happy for me to marry Alec.” she gave her husband a gentle look.  
“What about you Mr Tevis?” Jack asked.  
“We met a few years ago. At a party I think. We got along, we met again. Turns out we go to the same club.”  
The Inspector nodded, and noted down the name of the club.  
“There was another house guest, I believe?” He turned half ways to Collins.  
“Mr Madden, yes, Sir. I’ll get him for you.”  
“David went a little green around the nose when your Constable brought us the news.” Alec explained.  
Jack nodded. “If you could all confirm your whereabouts for this morning, between ten and twelve.” he posed his final question.  
Edward Tevis raised an eyebrow. “So you do think he was murdered. And you think we are suspects?”  
“Routine questions Mr Tevis, while the manner of his death is still unclear.”  
“I think we might have all still been in bed.” Alec offered. “I only got up at, what was it eleven? Laura and I had breakfast together at half past.”  
“Twenty past.” his wife corrected him. “I had my maid wake me at half past ten.” she added.  
Jack looked up from his notes. “I take it you don’t share a room then?”  
“No.” Alec confirmed. “I snore, I’ve been told.”  
“What about you Mr Tevis?” Jack continued.  
“I only got up half an hour ago. There was a lot of commotion I could hear, otherwise I would have probably slept until dusk. I had no idea of course…”  
“Can anyone confirm this?”  
“I’m afraid I was alone all morning aside from a ghastly hangover. I suppose I had a little more fun than was strictly healthy yesterday. Frankly, I can’t even remember how I got into bed.” Ned admitted.

Before Jack or Phryne could continue their interview Constable Collins returned, rather roughly shoving a man into the parlour. Another man in expensive clothes, although Phryne noted that the cut of his jacket gave away that the suit was at least a couple of years old. And even the best cut suit couldn’t hide the powdery face and the small cuts on his chin that indicated the clumsy handling of a razor.  
“Mr David Madden, Sir. Found him in the deceased’s study.” Collins reported. “He was looking for this apparently.”  
He handed his superior a sheet of paper. The Inspector red it. With a tilt of the head he handed on it to Miss Fisher. She raised an eyebrow at him.  
“If you were looking for a motive, Jack…” she observed.  
“I think we need to talk to you Mr Madden, down at the station.” he agreed.


	3. You owe me ten shillings

“That’s quite a lot of money you owed Mark Tomlinson.” Miss Fisher observed, pushing the IOU across the table of the interrogation room. David Madden sighed deeply.  
“It is.” he admitted.  
“Quite the motive.” she insinuated.  
His eyes shot up between her and the Inspector who sat next to the Lady Detective without having uttered a word so far.  
“I didn’t kill him. I never… I thought he jumped?”  
“Why did you ransack Mr Tomlinson’s office?” Jack asked unmoved.  
“I didn’t…” Madden interrupted himself realising he didn’t sound very convincing after having been caught in the act.  
“I didn’t ransack it. He said Mark was dead, jumped off the church tower” he nodded towards Collins, who was recording the interview in the corner. “And I came past his office, I don’t know, I guess I just thought I could…”  
“Make important evidence disappear?” Jack interjected.  
“No!” Madden began sweating profusely. “I just thought, I could get rid of that and make my debts disappear.” he hung his head.  
“I couldn’t pay him back.” he admitted. “We had a few words about it yesterday. He wanted his money back, but I didn’t… I mean I’m not even close. It just seemed like an easy way out. But I would’ve never thought of killing him.”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Phryne perched herself on her usual corner of Jack’s desk. He tilted his head in consideration.  
“If he was lying I’d expect him to deny everything, not confirm what makes him look like a murderer. Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. If Tomlinson was murdered that is and we still don’t know that. Madden doesn’t have an alibi and a strong motive. We’ll have someone go have a look at his finances and Tomlinson’s while we’re at it. Collins!” he called out.  
“Anything from the interviews of the servants?” he asked when Hugh appeared at the door.  
“Mrs Beauford’s maid confirmed she woke her mistress at half past ten and the Housekeeper stated Mr Beauford rang to inquire after breakfast at eleven. Mr Madden came down at half past eleven, as witnessed by one of the footmen, and the Butler says he got the call from the church at quarter to noon, just before Miss Fisher arrived. Until the Vicar rang none of them had noticed their master was missing. Apparently he didn’t usually have breakfast on Sundays and he dressed himself, so it wasn’t unusual for him not to bother the servants before lunch.” he summed up.  
“What else did they say about their employer?” Phryne asked.  
“Not much, Miss.” Hugh admitted. “All agree he was a decent boss, paid well and not too much work other than that he liked entertaining guests and would usually insist they stay the night.”  
“Would any of them have noticed if one of the guests had left the house earlier that morning?” Jack inquired.  
“According to Mrs Grafton, the housekeeper, the only ones who might have are the maids, when they clean the house in the morning, but they only do the ground floor and they follow a strict routine, so if someone knew their round it would be easy to avoid being seen. The other servants usually stay downstairs until they are needed.”  
Jack nodded. "Thank you Collins. See that you get access to Madden’s and Tomlinson’s finances and see how they stood."  
Phryne huffed when Hugh had returned to his post at the front desk.  
"None of that is any help." she complained.  
Jack leaned back in his seat.  
"So far, we don’t even have a murder." he reminded her. "I doubt we will get a coroner’s report before tomorrow morning. Until then we’ll keep Mr Madden here under observation."  
He started moving papers on his desk. "What about the other’s? Any thoughts?"  
“It’s odd that the Beaufords didn’t share a room, don’t you think?” Phryne mused.  
“A lot of married couples have separate bedrooms, Phryne.” Jack noted.  
“So I’ve been told.” she agreed. “And it has always struck me as rather odd. After all I thought being allowed to sleep in the same bed was the whole point of marriage."  
He gave her an amused look. "I can’t see how that has kept you much Miss Fisher." he pointed out.  
She grinned mischievously back at him. "Can’t say I heard you complain, Inspector. At least" she added with an even more wicked smile "since you’ve been the only one allowed to sleep in the same bed as me."  
He held her eyes trying very hard not to blush. The only reason he was successful was probably the fact that his blood was currently predominantly rushing the opposite direction in his body as images of the last couple of nights flooded his mind.  
To his equal relieve and disappointment Phryne returned her attentions to the case after only a few moments.  
"I just can’t help thinking it seems odd. I mean, have you seen those two together. They seemed to be incredibly attuned to each other.” she sighed.  
Jack shrugged. “They’ve been married for over fifteen years and maybe he really does snore.” he suggested. “It has been said that separate bedrooms is the secret to still being very close after such a long time.”  
Phryne merely gave him a look.  
“Personal experience however suggests separate houses do not do the trick.” he added, refusing to be intimidated. Instead he chose to change the subject.  
“You wouldn’t happen to know who the Chinese worker was Mr Beauford mentioned leaving the house yesterday somewhat agitated?” he asked.  
“I may have a vague idea.” she replied innocently, her voice pitching a little higher than usual, as she was prone to when she was lying to him. Jack merely folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.  
“I’m all ears Miss Fisher. I believe you still owe me an explanation as to why exactly Mrs Lin hired you.”  
Phryne sighed. “She has, or rather had, I suppose, some grand revenge plan against Tomlinson. It sounded all rather convoluted and she was very vague on her reasons, something personal I believe. What I could make out is that Mr Tomlinson was quite unpopular with the Chinese community in general. Part of it I guess is what your favourite playwrite would call 'ancient malice'. It seems the Tomlinson family was one of the major beneficiaries of the events in Buckland Valley in ’57, not something that would make the Chinese look very fondly on them. However it would appear that the current Mr Tomlinson added insult to injury and also exploited the Chinese workers in some way. Many of which are descendants of the Buckland Valley miners, as you probably know.”  
“So his family being rich is the reason theirs aren’t and now they have to work for him and he doesn’t pay?” Jack summarized.  
“Indeed.” Phryne agreed. “I believe the man who visited Tomlinson yesterday is a certain Feng Huang, he has good connections to some of the socialist and communist chapters in the city and according to rumour plans to found a Chinese specific union.”  
Jack let out a deep heartfelt sigh. He could already see Phryne’s favourite red-raggers down the line of this case. Not to speak of the trouble the Chinese community would cause, if he was forced to arrest a well connected member. For a moment he profoundly hoped Mark Tomlinson had killed himself. But speaking of well connected:  
“Remind me: How does any of this relate to Mrs Lin? I thought her Grandson traded in silk?”  
Phryne shrugged nonchalantly. “Like I said, I believe it’s personal. According to my researches both her and the Feng family came to Australia for the gold rush, and by all accounts on the same boat.”  
“Family friend then, I see.” Jack sighed again. “And what did she want you to do in this case?”  
“Well according to her Tomlinson was somehow trying to blackmail or intimidate Feng to stop him from railing up his workers, so she wanted me to find either what he was using and get rid of it, or find dirt to use against him.”  
The Inspector frowned. “Doesn’t sound like the kind of case you would usually take.” he observed.  
“You’re right, it isn’t.” Miss Fisher agreed. “But with Granny Lin, I rather chose my battles. It seemed an easy way to …”  
“Butter her up?” he offered with a smirk.  
She rolled her eyes. “Make amends for some prior disagreements and convince her of my less damnable qualities.” she corrected him. “I’ve been thinking about asking Camellia about all of it actually. She might also know about Mr Feng’s political activities. Besides I have to report to Granny Lin anyways.” she said with a sigh as she got up from his desk. “I am allowed to tell her about Tomlinson’s death, aren’t I?”  
Jack nodded. The news were out at his point anyways and talking with Camellia Lin seemed like a good idea. Mrs Lin Chung had after all known connections to both the Chinese communist party and the elder Mrs Lin. For himself it seemed he had to wait for the coroners report before he could move further in any direction. But there was already plenty of paperwork to keep him occupied for the rest of the day. Phryne pressed a quick kiss to his lips before she headed to the door.  
“See you at seven. Don’t be late.”  
His head shot up. Seven? What was at seven? She rolled her eyes in false exasperation.  
“Theatre. Don’t tell me you forgot I was taking you out tonight.”  
Right. There had been that. “I’m sorry Phryne. I’ll try. But I don’t know how long I’ll be…”  
“You can’t be late tonight Jack.” she exclaimed.  
He did his best to look as sorry as he could.  
“If I have to work…”  
“Like you said, you can’t do much until you have a verdict from the coroner on the manner of death. And the paperwork isn’t going anywhere. The theatre curtain on the other hand…”  
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure I’m willing to sacrifice my diligence for an operetta.”  
Phryne gave him an admonishing look. “I would never expect that from you Jack. Thankfully, we’re not going to watch an operetta.” she smiled wickedly.  
Jack refused to rise to the bait, although his curiosity was woken.  
“I’ll see what I can do.” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The so-called (imo somewhat euphemistically) Buckland riots where attacks on Chinese miners in Buckland Valley in 1857 during the Victorian gold rush. There was a lot of property damage, miners were injured and a few even killed. Law enforcement was rather slow to act and even though the (white) perpetrators were caught they were later acquitted in court without exception. In the end most Chinese were driven from the land and only very few returned.  
> I’m not sure how well informed about those events the white population of Melbourne would have been sixty years later (I imagine the Chinese would have remembered fairly well), but I’d like to imagine that conscientious people like Phryne and Jack would have been aware of them. 
> 
> The term ‘ancient malice’ can for example be found in the opening scene of Richard II, referring to a conflict that is rooted in family history rather than in recent events.


	4. Oranges and Lemons

Phryne came back to pick Jack up at half past six.  
"I thought you said seven." he complained as she all but dragged him out of his office by his lapels.  
Thankfully it was only Hugh at the counter. With any other officer Jack would have been mortified.  
"That was to be at the theatre, but you still have to change, darling." Phryne pointed out, as if it were perfectly obvious.  
She drove him to his home and waited sitting on his bed while he put on his dinner jacket. She was of course long ready, dressed in a black dress that somehow glittered in the light when she moved. Jack didn’t know much about haute couture, although his knowledge had vastly improved in the last year and a half, but he could still appreciate the sight of her wearing a stunning gown like that even without exactly knowing what it was. Especially when she was wearing it sitting on his bed. He tried not to mind that she was watching him in a way that made him want to stop dressing and forget all about the theatre.  
"Anything from Mrs Lin?" he asked instead, trying to focus on other matters.  
Phryne huffed. "Yes and no. She did already know about Tomlinson’s death. No surprise, I suppose. The news was on the wireless just after lunch. It’s fair to say she wasn’t exactly bereaved, also no surprise. Wouldn’t budge an inch on divulging any more information on either Mr Feng or what exactly her grievance with Mark Tomlinson was, beside his family history."  
"No surprise there, either." Jack commented dryly.  
"No." she agreed scowling before she got up in front of him and started tying his bowtie.  
"But Camellia promised me to do some digging and see if she has more luck."

"I’ve also arranged to have tea with Aunt Prudence tomorrow. To see what she knows about Tomlinson and his guests." she told him in the car.  
"You are of course very welcome to join me in that particular inquest." she added with a wink.  
"I’m very glad to leave any unofficial interviews of your aunt to you." Jack replied politely. "She likes you much better than me anyways."  
Phryne gave him a bewildered look. "Whatever do you mean? Aunt Prudence adores you!"  
He tilted his head doubtfully. "I’m sure that’s why she wrinkles her nose every time she sees me." he remarked dryly.  
Phryne chuckled and wrapped her hand around his arm.  
"Believe me, Jack. Aunt P has the highest regards for you. I doubt there is anyone in the police force she trusts more than you. She just doesn’t like you with me."  
"Well" he said pulling her imperceptibly closer to him. "That’s too bad, because not liking me with you is the same as not liking me at all, to me."  
She laughed lightly.  
"She’ll get used to it." she promised.  
He nodded and pressed a light kiss to her fingers, the only part of her he could reach without taking his eyes off the road.

Jack couldn’t suppress a smile as the first words of the actor rose to the box.  
"How did you get Mr Tarrant to stage Anthony and Cleopatra?" he whispered.  
Phryne shrugged lightly "Bart’s just as much a Shakespeare enthusiast as you are, Jack." she said innocently. "Whether or not I made any suggestions to him regarding the bill or offered to sponsor the theatre, I’m sure, had nothing what so ever to do with his final choice of that particular play."  
Jack could only shake his head. "You’re unbelievable."  
He wondered if anyone would see in the darkened auditorium if he kissed her, when another thought occurred to him:  
"Wait, if tonight is the premier, you must have planed this months ago. Long before you went to London."  
Long before they had taken the last step in their relationship, before they had confessed their feelings for each other, before they had spent their first night together, before he had kissed her on that airfield. Phryne smiled radiantly.  
"Actually the idea came to me over a year ago. Right after we solved the murders here. And the appearance of the ghost. After all, that was the first time you wooed me reciting the bard."  
"I wasn’t wooing you, I was still married to Rosie back then." he said defensively. "And how could you know I would let you drag me to see the play a year later?"  
"I didn’t of course, darling. And I most certainly didn’t anticipate it would take quite so long to get this thing up and running. It turns out Bart really has no head for business or planning. It’s no wonder the man has been scraping past ruin for years. Of course I didn’t know, Jack, but a girl can hope." she gave him another one of her cheeky smiles and it was only the increasing ruckus on stage that kept him from kissing her this time.

 

"Robinson, what are you doing here?"  
Jack nearly spun, when he heard the voice of Chief Commissioner Wolfe in the lobby. The foyer was packed with people chatting about the play and waiting for the intermission to end or, like him, for their partners to return from powdering their noses.  
"Sir." he said a little gobsmacked.  
Wolfe had been sent for from Sydney to take over Russell Street after the Sanderson affaire. The powers that be had considered it a good idea to bring in an outsider to run the Victoria Police, who couldn’t have been embezzled in any way in either Sydney Fletcher’s mob nor the blackmail scandal Sanderson had used to bring Commissioner Hall down. After about a year of working with Wolfe Jack didn’t have many complaints about him. He was a diligent man who had inherited a difficult position no one envied him for. The only issue that came to haunt Jack now and then was that Wolfe, for understandable reasons, was maybe a little too concerned with procedure and appearance. His near hysterical call last year had prompted Jack to make Phryne a Special Constable, in order to work around the order to not solve cases with civilians.  
Wolfe smiled affably. "Should have known you were a Shakespeare-man, Robinson." he stated. "You’re just the type."  
Jack tried not to frown in confusion. "Thank you Sir." he said, just to be on the safe side. "I was invited."  
Wolfe raised an eyebrow. "Invited?" he repeated.  
"We had a case in this theatre about two years ago." Jack explained.  
The Commissioner’s face grew serious. "I hope you haven’t been accepting any advantages Robinson." he said sternly.  
"Not at all, Sir." Jack was quick to assure him "While I hope to have left a favourable impression on Mr Tarrant, I doubt his gratitude goes that far."  
At least his gratitude to me, he added mentally, well aware that Phryne had solved that particular case almost single-handedly. Before Wolfe could press any further the Lady of his thoughts appeared next to his elbow and lightly wrapped her arm around his biceps.  
"Here you are." she said, before she turned to Wolfe with a bright smile. "Commissioner, how lovely to see you. I hope you and your wife are enjoying the play."  
It was rather amusing to see the relief over the obvious source of Jack’s invitation battle with disapproval of their public outing on Wolfe’s face. There was nothing the Commissioner could do if one of his detectives decided to court a society lady, even if she was involved in an outrageous number of his cases. But as someone who was concerned with public appearance he couldn’t condone their relationship either, even if they were never anything but perfectly proper in public.  
"Miss Fisher." he said a little tersely. "I should have guessed."  
Her smile widened another inch.  
"Well, Bart Tarrant is a dear old friend. I couldn’t possibly not come." she said courteously. "Besides, you see" she added lightly "I have a vested interest in this production."  
Wolfe nodded with as much politeness as he could muster.  
"I see." he said "Am I to assume you also have a vested interest in the Mark Tomlinson case? Or are any rumours of you at the scene mere fabrication?"  
Phryne smiled her most radiant smile. One that Jack immediately recognised as one that was meant to convince her opposite of her utter innocence, while simultaneously allowing her to do as she pleased. He had been on the receiving end of that smile way too many times not to recognise it a mile away.  
"Not exactly." she admitted. "But I have been hired to find out something about him and I haven’t completed my assignment yet."  
Fortunately in that moment the bell for the second half started ringing and they were all spared further conversation.  
"I’ll be expecting close reports on that case, Robinson." Wolfe informed Jack before he turned to head back to his own seat. "Tomorrow first thing after you have the coroner’s report."

 

After the play they enjoyed a late dinner. Mr Butler had left an unsurprisingly delicious meal in the oven to be reheated, so they settled down in the kitchen trying no to wake him. It really was late, since Bart Tarrant had, very much to Jack’s approval, kept most of the play and only cut very few lines.  
"Leila really did make a wonderful Cleopatra." Phryne observed.  
"She’s proven herself quite the actress." Jack agreed, although in his mind this particular role was very irrevocably cast and no actress in the world would ever be able to replace the image of a certain socialite at a fancy dress party. The costume had been suspiciously similar though.  
"Thank you." he said genuinely. "For this evening. You really are unbelievable."  
She smiled brilliantly at him for a moment before she fell back into the light bantering tone.  
"I can accept that description." she quipped. "It wasn’t that easy either. The time alone it took me to convince Georgina Charlesworth to give up some advertising space in Women’s Choice for this production."  
He had to grin. "I can‘t believe she was able to deny you anything."  
"You’d be surprised how stubborn she can be, when she thinks she has a cause to defend."  
He frowned a question.  
"She wasn’t too keen on that particular play." Phryne stage-whispered with a suggestive eye roll.  
Jack’s frown deepened. "I would have thought she’d love it. Cleopatra is most likely Shakespeare’s strongest female character."  
Phryne shrugged. "Well, you could argue that she is just another woman whose life was not worth continuing after her lover’s death."  
Jack shock his head in disbelieve. "But she isn’t. Her suicide is an act of defiance against Octavius. Her death on her own terms is her last victory over a man’s attempt to subdue her. Anthony is a mere laughing stock throughout the whole play."  
He gave her that particular look he had when he was chiding her but didn’t mean it. "There is a reason I wasn’t too happy about that comparison."  
Phryne laughed out loud. "The triple pillar of the world transformed into a strumpets fool?" she asked.  
He grinned and nodded. "Apart from the fact that that was not particularly flattering for you either."  
She smiled at him in a way that he almost thought was pride.  
"Next time I’ll take you with me so you can argue my case for Shakespeare for me." she said warmly.  
"Next time?"  
"Should the need ever arise again. After all there are 38 other plays Bart might want to put on." she blinked up to him under her lashes. "The Commissioner certainly didn’t have your enlightened grasp on the material."  
Jack rolled his eyes. The scene in the intermission still galled him somewhat. He tried not to think about it.  
"I’m just glad Mr Tarrant didn’t cast himself as Mark Anthony." he said instead, trying to get the conversation back to the performance itself.  
Phryne laughed lightly. "I think even Bart wouldn’t want to play his own daughter’s lover." she pointed out. "Besides, you’re right about Anthony, and Enobarbus is the much better role. Although" she leaned forward with a sultry smile "I much more preferred it the first time I heard a certain speech on that stage."  
This time he did kiss her. "Had I known how true those words would turn out to be, I would have kept my trap well and truly shut then." he admitted quietly, when they broke the kiss.  
"Thank goodness you’re not as clairvoyant as you have led me to believe then, Jack Robinson." she replied and kissed him again.

Jack knew that it was high time for him to sleep if he wanted to be in any shape to get up when he had to tomorrow. But at the same time he knew he was still too wired form the play, which really had featured some excellent performances and had left him somewhat raw, as good Shakespeare usually did. So he let Phryne lead him to the parlour and hand him a tumbler of whiskey, intend to let the evening linger just a little longer. And there was a topic he had been meaning to breach for a few days now, but it had never seemed the right time. Now they were both relaxed and he felt he could muster the courage to bring up a subject she might be a bit touchy about, without scaring her.  
"There is something else I would like to talk to you about. Meeting the Commissioner reminded me.” he waited a moment for her slight nod to continue. “As you probably know, it’s obligatory for senior officers to provide the station with a means of contact, in case we are called upon outside of our shifts.”  
Phryne nodded. She knew that Jack had was never fully off duty as long as he was in town. Even when he wasn’t required to be at the station, if something happened he had to show up. Jack continued, his tone remained unnervingly neutral and careful. The fact that he was clearly worried about her reaction to whatever he was going for, ironically worried her.  
“Most officers provide their home telephone number these days.” he explained. “As have I.”  
“Seems reasonable.” she agreed.  
Slowly she started to feel she had an idea where this was heading.  
“Yes.” he nodded slowly. This was where things got tricky. “The thing is, I haven’t actually been home, all that much lately.” he hesitated, leaving the actual question hanging in the air.  
“You want to give them my number,… This number, Wardlow.” she said it out loud.  
He nodded. “It’s not… it doesn’t mean anything, other than that I want to avoid getting in trouble because I can’t be reached. And it’s only really for when Hugh isn’t on duty, because he knows, of course, where I might be, when I’m not at home. But I don’t want you to think…”  
“No. Of course. It’s… fine.” she interrupted his increased rambling. “It … seems reasonable. You do practically live here. And I would never want you to get in any kind of trouble because of me.”  
She was aware of how awkward the words sounded as soon as they had left her mouth and mentally scolded herself about it. There really was no reason for this. He was right he did spent more time here than at his own apartment, mostly because his place was a mere hatbox and didn’t come with Mr Butler’s magical cooking. And her bed was a great deal more comfortable. Leaving her phone number as his official contact information didn’t mean anything other than an acknowledgement of the reality of their situation. There was no reason to read anything into it. No need to panic and no need for any awkwardness and definitely no need for that look on his face. No, he deserved better than to worry every time he had to broach the subject of their relationship with her for whatever reason and he certainly deserved better than to ever have this look on his face, like he was hurt but not surprised by her reaction. No, this absolutely would not do. She took a deep breath and tried to convince him that she meant it when she repeated:  
"It’s fine, Jack."  
His eyes sought hers, looking for the truth in her statement.  
"It makes perfect sense and if that’s the condition for you to be able to come here as often as you do, I gladly fill out the forms myself."  
The corner of his mouth quirked up in part amusement, part relieve at that.  
"I don’t think that will be necessary." Now his mouth turned fully upward in a mischievous smile. "After all, you don’t have the best track record in filing paperwork."  
She grinned back, relieved for the break in tension.  
"But my handwriting is much nicer than yours." she returned, not willing to let him have the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much on the case this time around, but on the other hand Shakespeare :-D
> 
> I may have channelled my own inner Shakespeare-nerd through Jack a little in this chapter (which mightbe why it might have got a little longer). The points he makes are all completely valid and supported by the text. Especially Cleopatra’s suicide is being discussed quite controversially nowadays. I don’t know how much those different readings had been considered by 1930 though.  
> His not so great opinion on Antony is also completely mine ( just read the scene when he tries to get his soldiers to kill him and try not to laugh about the different versions of ‘I think I left the stove on’), which was why I was quite glad they tuned down the comparison’s in season two (as much as I love any reference to the bard). Jack really deserves better.  
> The ‘age cannot wither her’ speech is of course not delivered by Antony himself but by Enobarbus, as Phryne states correctly. 
> 
> On a matter of historical accuracy, I’m sure on-call duty is a more modern invention (although I wouldn’t even know where to start researching that) as such, but from all I know about the Victorian Police at the time they would have had a way to contact people outside their shifts, simply because they were criminally understaffed.


	5. Brickbats and Tiles

“Congratulations, you got yourself a murder.” Mac stated dryly.  
“So he didn’t jump? Are you sure?” Jack asked.  
An admittedly small part of him had still hoped.  
“He was dead before he hit the ground." Mac confirmed.  
The Inspector sighed in frustration.  
"Probably a couple of hours earlier." The coroner continued unimpressed. "I put the time of death between seven and ten in the morning.”  
“And how did he die?” he asked resigning to his fate once more.  
“Now this is where it gets interesting.” she said, her eyes narrowing in her own frustration now. “I haven’t got an earthly idea. Some kind of severe physical trauma, but that’s about all I can tell you. Even for the actual cause of death… Severe head traumata, heavy internal bleeding, lung oedemae, rupture of various other vital and non vital organs, you take your pick.” She frowned slightly.  
“He was beaten?” Jack guessed.  
Mac shook her head. “Not by anything I have ever seen. The injuries are too even, too evenly spread. There seem to be no specific point of impact. If he was beaten he was beaten everywhere, and I mean everywhere. And with the same amount of force.”  
“Well, that’s not very helpful, Mac.” Phryne chided her friend.  
She had been inspecting the victim’s body again, now that he was a little more straightened out, but hadn’t detected anything you wouldn’t expect after a fall from a church tower.  
“If you have any idea, I’m open to suggestions.” Mac fired back. “I have no idea what could cause this kind of damage to a human body. I’ve never seen anything like it.” she frowned deeply.  
Jack knew well that she wasn’t happy with that either. Elisabeth MacMillan didn’t like not having answers any more than anyone else in this room.  
“Anything else of interest, Doctor?” Jack asked, scanning over her report.  
Unfortunately Phryne was right and none of this was really helping much.  
“He was hit over the head before he died. Might have knocked him out, didn’t kill him though. And he has lacerations on his wrists and ankles that suggest that he was tied up. Both injuries were sustained before he died and fell.”  
The two detectives exchanged a look.  
“So he was kidnapped, somehow killed and then thrown off the tower.” Phryne summed up.  
Mac shrugged. “That’s what it looks like.” she agreed.  
Jack nodded. "Right. So we better have another look at that church tower then." He sighed. "After my chat with the commissioner."  
Phryne gave him a radiant smile. "Well, Inspector, I guess I’ll see you at the crime scene then."

 

She almost waited for him and was only about fifty steps up the tower by the time he arrived. Thankfully Wolfe had let him go rather quickly after he had confirmed that Tomlinson had indeed been murdered. Not without impressing on him the importance and sensibility of the case. The Bishop was apparently detained in the capital, but had promised any support the police would need. Whether that was due to his friendship with Tomlinson or a lingering sense of guilt over the involvement of one of his convents in the Fletcher business, Jack decided not to wonder about too much. He was simply glad he wouldn’t have to fight the Catholic Church for once. Cautiously neither he nor the Commissioner had brought up Phryne’s involvement in the case.  
It was in the lower belfry that they found clear signs that something, or rather someone, had been dragged around. Jack cursed himself for not having checked up the tower yesterday. He could have made much more progress in the meantime if he had started treating it as a murder sooner. But when they had found the body, interviewing the household and the vicar had seemed the more urgent task, so he had only sent up a couple of constables who, unsurprisingly, hadn’t found anything, most likely because they hadn’t looked properly, because they had assumed Tomlinson had jumped. How they had managed to overlook the dark stain, which presumably had still been a puddle yesterday, was beyond him though. He made a mental note to find out who exactly he had tasked with the search and give them a stern talking to on the topic of thoroughness.  
“Do you think this is where he was killed, Jack?” Phryne crouched next to the blood.  
“It’s hard to say without knowing how he was killed.” He moved next to her.  
“It’s not a lot of blood considering the injuries Mac described.” he noted.  
“She did say most of his injuries were internal.” Phryne pointed out. “Maybe this is similar to Lavinia Holloway having a bleeding nose when she was being strangled.”  
Jack tilted his head. It was a possibility. He’d have to ask Mac again about the exact nature of the injuries, although he doubted she would have an answer any more precise than she had had this morning.  
“Well, this is definitely were he was thrown off the tower.” he observed.  
About that at least there could be no doubt, the small piece of Tomlinson’s coat they found in the corner of the window proved it. This seemed to be the only pieces of evidence to be detected up here, however, even after another close search. He wondered if it would be necessary to climb up into the framework where the bells were hung. He gazed up into the peal. It looked like a rather complex construction of hoists, gears and wheels, he wasn’t entirely comfortable having above his head, but he could also see loosely timbered floorboards that allowed for a man to more or less safely walk between the bells. The bells themselves were beautiful he noticed. Majestic, dark, and massive enough that it seemed impossible they could ever be moved. A little mystical, just like church bells should be.  
“Maybe he was crushed by one of those machines.” Phryne speculated.  
Jack took a step closer to the bell nearest to the blood stain, inspecting the wheel.  
“No blood.” he noted with a shake of his head.  
She frowned, her eyes wandering about the room.  
“Then how did he die in here?” she asked frustrated.

The climb to the upper half of the belfry, that Jack had conceded was be necessary after all, didn’t answer that question either. All it taught them was that the middling floor was a lot more stable than it looked from below, but the wheels and machinery looked just as frightful from up here, maybe more so.

 

Back down on the ground a sturdy man squeezing his cap waited for them. He approached the Inspector respectfully but with a degree of urgency.  
“’scuse me Sir, you the Inspector? I’m Paulson, one of the bell ringers, Sir. We’ve been wonderin’ how long ‘till we can get back up?”  
Jack gave the man a stern look to hide his surprise. Phryne intervened before he could say anything:  
“One of the bell ringers?” she asked incredulous. “How many are there?”  
“Well, there’s four of us Miss, since it’s eight bells.” the ringer explained.  
“Anything you need up there Mr Paulson?” Jack asked.  
“Well, Sir” Paulson shifted his cap from one hand to the other. It looked like he had drawn the shortest straw and was now the one who had to talk to the boss to ask for a raise.  
“The Bishop has ordered a death knell for Mr Tomlinson as soon as possible. And then we’d be needin’ to practice.”  
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Practice?”  
The other man nodded enthusiastically. “For the change ringing, Sir. We’ll want to beat the lad’s from St Pauls in spring, Sir.”  
He shrugged a little apologetically. “We wouldn’t normally care about the Protestants, but we figured we’d stand a good chance to outdo them, what with them having the new tower, too. We both still need to see how they react.” he grinned almost dreamily. “It wouldn’t do to topple those pretty new towers just yet, would it now?”  
Jack shook his head, trying to make sense of anything the man told him and then decided that today wasn’t the day he was going to understand the strange worlds other people lived in. He’d settle for having learned the fact that apparently church bell ringing comps were a part of reality. But then again it made sense that no one would make it a profession to ring the bells for the two times a day that job was needed. Which gave him an idea:  
“Mr Paulson, did you and your colleagues ring the bells before the service yesterday morning?”  
He could feel Phryne’s appraising look on him as he asked. Maybe, just maybe they would be lucky.  
“Just me, Sir. I’m the main ringer here; the other’s just come in for the change. I do the regular calls. Well, the motor does, so it’s really just a matter of climbing up there and pushin’ the lever.” Paulson said with just a hint of disdain.  
“Did you see anyone in the tower or the belfry that morning?”  
The ringer thought for a second. “Can’t say I did. But I didn’t look ‘round a great deal. No one ever comes up there ‘sept for us. I didn’t even stop in the lower belfry, went straight to the top to where the motor is. An’ I did lock the door be‘ind me.”  
Jack nodded. That would have been too easy now wouldn’t it? But after having been up there he had to agree that from the upper floor of the belfry it was rather almost impossible to see the in the lower half unless you were actively looking.  
“Thank you Mr Paulson. I’ll see that you’ll be able to go back up by tomorrow.” he assured the ringer.  
The man shuffled off with a grateful nod and the detectives returned to their respective cars.

 

Mrs Collins was waiting for Miss Fisher next to the Hispano, trying very much not to lean on it too much and straightening up when her Mistress came into view. She may be six months pregnant, but, as her mother kept reminding her, that was no reason to become slothful.  
"What have you found out Dot?" Phryne asked without introduction.  
"Good Morning Inspector." Dot began more politely. "I had a chat with Mr Turp, one of the vergers, Miss. I told him I was looking for a church for the baptism, because Hugh and I were moving and we liked the neighbourhood and I had some doubts about father O’Leary, what with what he did to that scientist last year and all that."  
Phryne nodded approvingly.  
"He said, I’d have to talk to the vicar, but of course he wasn’t in now because he’s doing the rounds through the parish. He said a lot of nice things about Father Morris. Apparently he is the one doing all the work in the parish, while the bishop is doing his political work. He travels quite a lot." she added almost apologetically. "The church administrator will stand in for his official duties but Father Morris is doing most of the pastoral care part."  
Jack frowned. "Who is that administrator? I suppose Tomlinson would have primarily dealt with him when it came to his donations." he guessed.  
Dot nodded. "Normally yes, but the Administrator is Bishop Barry of Goulburn and he’s in his own Diocese at the moment, because they’re really worried what will happen with all the worker’s with the recession. So he hasn’t been here this year at all yet. Father Morris had been dealing with Mr Tomlinson’s donations in the last months. And" she said with smile that on anyone else’s face Jack would have described as smug, but he couldn’t really reconcile that expression with Mrs Collins.  
"And that’s probably what Mr Turp heard them argue about two days ago."  
Phryne’s smile mirrored her companion‘s "Well, done, Dot!" she exclaimed.  
"Seems like we’ll need to have another chat with Father Morris." Jack agreed.  
"According to the verger he won’t be back until the evening, Inspector." Dot supplied helpfully. "He’ll be in tomorrow to take confessions though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Competitive church bell ringing is a real thing and my reaction to learning that fact was very similar to Jack’s. Change ringing has been around since the 17th century and is particularly popular in England. The idea (as far as I understand it) is to play a specific sequence without making mistakes and you try to get longer sequences completed than anybody else. Currently there are six churches in the greater Melbourne area that do change ringing.  
> St Patrick’s became ‘leading tower’ in change ringing in Melbourne in the 1880s. The churches eight bells where hung at ground lever in 1868 and later transferred into the tower (once they had one). I don’t know if they had motorised bells at the time, but since the first motorised bells are recorded in 1898 I thought 30 years later they would have it, especially in a new belfry.  
> St Paul’s would of course be St Paul’s Cathedral, another one of the Melbourne churches that participate in that sport, though I don’t know when they started with it (the earliest date I could find was 1968, but that’s the last time the bells were tuned). I choose the church because I liked the idea of going with the show’s theme of Catholic/Protestant rivalry.  
> When Paulson says that both churches have new towers we add another anachronism, because similar to St Patrick’s St Paul’s didn’t have towers in 1930 yet, they were only completed in 1933. 
> 
> Bishop John Berry of Goulburn (which today is the diocese Canberra-Goulburn) was in fact administrator of St Patricks and representing Archbishop Mannix in absentia (which was rather frequently; the Archbishop travelled a lot). I’ve removed him to work in his own diocese in order to keep any real historical figures out of this story.
> 
> Edit: rewatching the show I noticed in some episodes there are transition shots of St Paul's, WITH its spires. So I might not be historically accurate, but I am within canon lol


	6. Halfpence and Farthings

After their chat with the bell ringer, the inspection of the tower and Dot’s report on the vicar Jack headed back to the station. The financial details of David Madden and Mark Tomlinson had come through and he felt slightly bad leaving Hugh alone to wade through what was most likely an ocean of numbers. On top of that he needed to send the police photographer to document the crime scene they had discovered and check with Mac about the blood. Phryne was sorry to let him go, but she had no interest in the boring following of paper trails. Besides she was supposed to meet Lin Camellia for lunch. She promised to send Dot by the station with a basket though and vowed to report any useful information she would unearth over dinner. Jack very decidedly did not watch her drive away, too fast, as always.

 

Phryne met with Camellia in a restaurant near the beach. She was a little disappointed as she had hoped her work on this case would involve a little more Chinese food. Her prediction to Jack had proven accurate: since Lin Chung’s marriage there had been precious little occasion for chopsticks at her house and she would have gladly jumped at the opportunity. But Camellia had pointed out that anything they discussed in Chinatown would sooner or later make its way to the ears of Granny Lin and Phryne was the first person to understand that she didn’t want to get into trouble with her husband’s relative.  
Camellia smiled conspiratorially over her decidedly western lunch plate.  
"You were right." she said. "Pópo, Lin’s grandmother, and Feng Huang’s Grandfather, Feng Xiao, were born in the same village in China. Their families came to Australia together when she was still a little girl. Her family went to search for gold in Bendigo, his family in Buckland Valley. Her family was lucky, the Feng family was not. Feng Xiao’s father was one of the miners killed during the attacks and the family were forced to move. Xiao and his sister were taken in by their friends from home and he and Grandmother grew up together."  
An array of emotions flickered over Camellia’s face as she told the story. Sadness, anger and outrage, emotion’s Phryne could only share. But the young woman gathered herself quickly and a sudden smile spread over her beautiful face.  
"She did not say, but I think pópo was in love with Feng Xiao. He, by then, was only a lowly worker of course, so she was married to the wealthy Lin family. But she was always very kind to his son and grandson."  
Phryne wasn’t sure what was harder to imagine, Granny Lin being kind to anyone or Granny Lin being a young girl in a tragic, impossible love story.  
"How on earth did you find all that out?" she exclaimed, deeply impressed with her friends sleuthing skills. She didn’t believe Granny Lin had volunteered this kind of information freely.  
But it turned out Camellia was not finished yet:  
"I have also inquired about Feng Huang. He is very notorious among Chinese workers and communist alike. It appears he used to work for my husband in the docks, but left in order to improve the worker’s conditions in other companies. Lin does not like him, but has tolerated him for the sake of his Grandmother. He was glad when Mr Feng left. He has started working for Mr Tomlinson seven months ago and has had several disagreements with his employer in that time."

 

"She also said that Mr Feng apparently is chronically very low on funds and comes to the Lin’s, or rather Granny Lin, for money regularly. It seems she really does have a soft spot for him." Phryne reported what she had learned to Jack over his lunch.  
He nodded and swallowed a mouthful of Mr Butler’s excellent lemon chicken. Phryne had come to his office straight after leaving Camellia where he had been up to his ears in paperwork and put off lunch in favour of getting somewhere with the financial records. Her first order of business therefore had been to get him to eat, while she told him what Camellia had found out.  
"Did she also mention that Mr Feng was arrested nineteen times in the last five years?" he asked, sliding the file over his desk.  
She put down page she had been scanning to pick it up.  
"Incitement, sedition, property damage, attack on a police officer" she read over the reports "Indecent behaviour?"  
Jack suppressed a smirk. Of course she’d home in on that one.  
"He chose to expose his rear to a political opponent during a protest." he explained. "And the intervening police officer."  
Phryne raised an eyebrow as her eyes flickered to the name of said officer in the report.  
"You didn’t mention you were acquainted with Mr Feng, Jack. Less that you had such intimate knowledge of him."  
"Much more intimate than I ever hoped for." he replied dryly.  
"And there I thought you were rather partial to a nice derriere, Jack." she gave him a wicked wink.  
"Don’t mistake your proclivities for mine, Miss Fisher." He returned without missing a beat. "I personally discriminate strongly depending on who said derriere is attached to."  
The look he gave her was most likely illegal. At least in public. Now that wouldn’t do at all. She shrugged nonchalantly.  
"I simply endeavour to consider all angles of a matter, Jack.”  
Now it was her turn to give him a look to be arrested for. Jack swallowed visibly.  
"Admirable sentiment, Miss Fisher. I’ll remind you of it." he ground out.  
She smirked satisfied that her remark clearly had the intended effect. Jack cleared his throat.  
"Leaving aside any disposition for bare skin," The look on his face stated that he was only leaving it aside with great difficultly "Mr Feng is going to be a tough nut to crack, even for you Miss Fisher."  
Phryne just rolled her eyes. Case, right, there was a case. She returned her attention to the file in her hands.  
"He seems a passionate man." she observed thoughtfully.  
"Short tempered with a tendency to violence, I’d say." Jack frowned.  
All teasing aside that man was potentially very dangerous. Phryne ignored his more sober judgement.  
"It all seems to be related to strikes, rallies, and protests, though." she observed. "All in the name of the cause, none of this is personal."  
"Maybe that’s how it started." Jack suggested.  
"A heated debate about the working conditions in the plant?" Phryne raised her eyebrow. "And he tied Tomlinson up, dragged him to the top of a tower at the other end of town and hurled him off in a fit of passion?" she asked sarcastically.  
"Maybe the church tower was just a cover up. Tomlinson could have died elsewhere. It might not have been his blood. Mac couldn’t be sure with all the damage the fall did." he suggested.  
Phryne just huffed and threw the file back on the desk, barely avoiding Jack’s still half full plate.  
"Anything useful in those finances?" she asked. "Other than the fact that Mr Tomlinson owned a plant. What kind of plant? What did that man make his money with?"  
Jack swallowed another bite.  
"Petrol." he stated, fishing for a different sheet of paper.  
"You were right, the family made a fortune in with gold and they still own a couple of mines and, yes, large patches of land which they now use for housing, but they switched their main business to the import of petroleum from America in the nineties. They provide lamp oil and petroleum for generators, but the biggest product these days is petrol for motorcars and fuel for planes."  
He looked rather pleased with himself as he tucked back into his lunch.  
"But if they just import it, what do they need plants for?" Miss Fisher frowned over the paper.  
"Mixing." Jack replied, mouth a little more full than would have been polite.  
"According to Constable Jenkins, whose father is a chemist" he continued after swallowing. "Fuel is a lot more complex than simply petroleum. But you can’t transport the finished blend over great distances because it’s highly combustible. So they import the ingredients and mix it here."  
Phryne nodded absentmindedly.  
"He seems to be doing very well with it." she observed.  
Jack nodded. "No wonder, with motorcars becoming more and more popular."  
"What about Mr Madden?" she asked, handing him back the page.  
Jack shuffled a few papers around to find the file.  
"He was telling the truth about his financial situation." he conceded. "He owes several hundred pounds to several people. Has for years apparently. Gambling debts I would guess; combined with a few bad investments. But he was doing alright, taking up new loans to pay off old dept. Shuffling money around. The crash put him in a pickle though: suddenly everyone’s calling in."  
"So his nice little system just collapsed. Was he desperate enough for murder?" she asked.  
"Definitely. But even Tomlinson’s death only alleviates his problem. 200 pounds less is a nice load off his back, but it’s only a part of what he owes. He’s still in dire need of over a thousand more."  
"So a motive, but not a good one." Phryne pouted.  
Jack finished his meal and cleared off the desk.  
"Collins!" he called for his Constable, as soon as the last traces of lunch had disappeared back in the basket.  
"Go back to the house and talk to the servants and the guests again." he ordered when Hugh appeared in the door. "I need to know who went to bed when and if they stayed in the entire night. Who saw Mark Tomlinson last and when. If he was indeed kidnapped, he might have been in that tower a lot longer. Also find out anything you can about the conversation he had with Feng. Once you’ve done that get Mr Feng in for questioning."  
"I’ll have to get on with this." he returned to Phryne, a tinge of regret in his voice. "I’m only about halfway through."  
To his surprise and an embarrassing amount of disappointment Miss Fisher jumped off his desk without a hint of protest.  
"I have to head back to meet Aunt Prudence anyways."  
She made a face before she pulled him in for a long kiss.  
"See you at dinner?" she whispered against his lips.  
He could only nod and try to regain some semblance of composure as she sashayed out of the room, cheerfully waving to Hugh on her way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently pópo ( 婆婆) is Chinese for mother-in-law, specifically the husband’s mother. Not exactly the correct term in this case, but probably something Camellia might call Granny Lin, since I doubt that even Chinese has a word for ‘my husband’s grandmother’. Unfortunately I don’t know any Chinese, so I have to rely on an online dictionary and hope I get it right. 
> 
> The production process for petrol Jack describes is how they do it today: The different components are mixed in blending stations and then distributed to the petrol stations, to minimise the distance over which the finished product has to be transported. I couldn’t find anything about pre-WWII methods, but I guess the difficulties of transporting blend petrol would still be the same, probably worse given the available modes of transport. There were experiments in the US in the 30s concerning the combustibility /stability of gasoline, so that problem definitely existed.


	7. When will you pay me?

It seemed Jack had left the station earlier than he had thought. Or tea with Mrs Stanley had lasted longer than had been intended. Either way the lady in question was still sitting in the parlour when he arrived at Wardlow, so Mr Butler announced him, which he hadn’t done in months. Silently Jack thanked the heavens for creating Mr B, blessing him with seeming omniscience and for sending him their way.  
"Inspector" Prudence Stanley greeted him with her usual aloofness. "Haven’t I seen you here two days ago?"  
"You have indeed, Mrs Stanley." Jack replied a lot calmer than he felt.  
He happened to know that Mrs Stanley had indeed a big heart under her proper exterior, and he had at one point decided not to be bothered by what anyone thought about his relationship to Phryne. But in spite of knowing both those things for a fact the woman still managed to intimidate him.  
"Jack is working on the Mark Tomlinson murder, Aunt P." Phryne stated.  
He could hear the underlying tension in her superficially cheerful remark. The explanation however seemed to pacify Mrs Stanley somewhat.  
"Well, then I hope you solve this case with your usual promptness, Inspector." she said graciously.  
"I will do my best Mrs Stanley." he assured her only barely suppressing his amusement at the 180 degree turn in her attitude. It seemed Phryne was right about her aunt’s opinion of him professionally.  
"I very much hope so, Inspector." she returned to talking down to him, which was in itself an achievement, considering she was about half his size. But Prudence Stanley had a lot of experience in talking down to people who towered above her.  
"Mr Tomlinson was an esteemed member of society and he will be sorely missed." she informed him. "I don’t know where we would be without his very generous donations to the hospital’s war victim’s programme and the new wing of the orphanage."  
"He was a very generous man, wasn’t he?" Phryne inquired innocently. "I heard he donated a lot of money to the building of the cathedral as well."  
Aunt Prudence managed to exude even more dignified disparagement.  
"A man of his standing can afford to invest in the odd folly, my dear. Or a prestige project." she huffed.  
Phryne tilted her head. "I wonder who inherits all that money now." she mused. "Did you happen to find anything about that in the paperwork you were so invested in earlier, Jack?"  
"I did indeed, Miss Fisher. Mr Tomlinson bequeathed his entire estate to Ava Beauford, to be held in trust by her mother until her 21st birthday."  
"Alec and Laura Beauford’s daughter?" Mrs Stanley raised her eyebrows. "How unusual." she judged.  
Jack shrugged. "It seems he didn’t have any family left and from what I gather he and Mrs Beauford are old friends."  
"He just never seemed particularly fond of the girl." Mrs Stanley pointed out. "Just the other week he was terribly dismissive of her." she recounted with a frown.  
"What do you mean Aunt P?" Phryne inquired.  
"Last week at the board meeting for the unemployment benefit. I’m afraid he made a terribly inappropriate joke and Laura got rather upset."  
"What did he joke about?"  
Her aunt gave her a stern look. “I’m sure I don’t remember." she stated indignantly. "And now it is high time that I take my leave. You will want to see to your dinner guest after all." she said with a look at the Inspector.  
"And the next time I would prefer not to hear from Tilda Higginbottom that you two have been gallivanting around in the theatre, my dear." she added. "That woman is a rather nasty gossip."  
With that she left the parlour and let Mr Butler help her into her coat.

 

"Unsurprisingly Mr Feng closed up like a clam the moment I mentioned Tomlinson and his death."  
Jack sighed deeply. Phryne handed him his whiskey. They had both had a long and exhausting afternoon behind them and had agreed to talk about anything but the case or Aunt Prudence over dinner. It had been nice, but now dinner was over and they were back on their usual places in the parlour, Jack by the mantle and Phryne on the opposite chair and the conversation inevitably drifted back to the murder.  
"Maybe I should try with him." she suggested. "After all I was hired by his personal beneficiary to help him. Besides" she added with a dramatic sigh. "I take Chinese communists over Aunt P any day."  
Jack chuckled. He knew well enough that Phryne loved her aunt dearly, but fully agreed Mrs Stanley was not always easy to endure.  
"Good luck with that." he simply said. "I have no doubt there was no love lost between Feng and Tomlinson, but I think Mr Feng has it in for all white Australians, especially the rich ones."  
Phryne grinned. "Nothing I can’t deal with." she said lightly as she got up to refill their glasses.  
He smiled back. "I’m sure. If anyone can twist the arm of a Chinese commo, it’ll be you."  
"You forgot to mention how charming I will be while twisting his arm." she chided him with a twinkle in her eyes.  
"You don’t need me to encourage you." he replied dryly. "And in any case" he reached out for her and pulled her flush against himself. "I take that as a given."

"So what information did you gather from your aunt? Anything useful?" he brought the conversation, somewhat unwilling and a little breathless, back to the original matter, a few minutes later.  
"Very much so. Nothing new about Tomlinson, I had already milked her about him the day before he died. It does seem his most popular assets were his money and his parties. But what she knew about the Beaufords was really interesting."  
“Yes?"  
Jack leaned back to listen. In his experience their definition of interesting wasn’t always entirely corresponding, but she usually got somewhere with it, so he was willing to hear her out especially after having found Tomlinson’s rather unconventionally will.  
"They’ve been married for nearly twenty years, like they said. Ava is their sixteen year old daughter, who is currently in boarding school in England, poor thing. He’s an architect. Or rather trying to be, it’s not been going well, since the war."  
"Strange, when there is construction everywhere." Jack interjected.  
"Indeed." she agreed. "According to Aunt P he submitted designs for the new bridge across the harbour bay in Sydney, several for various government buildings for the new Capital and one for the war memorial they’re building near St Kilda Road. Essentially he has put his hat in the ring for every major building project between here and Sydney and has gotten none of them. He’s apparently built a few private houses, here and in Maidstone but even those are few and far between."  
"So they’re tight for money?" he asked.  
Phryne shrugged. "It’s hard to tell these days, how dire things really are. People keep up appearances even if they’ve lost everything in the crash. You’ve seen it with Hilly MacNaster: Some people would rather starve than ask for help. But he did inherit a bit when his parents died, just after the war and her family is on the better side of things, too."  
Jack nodded. Even the great crash could not upend the upper echelons in this city it seemed. Sometimes he wondered about that. But he had already resolved to inquire into the Beaufords’ finances. With an internal sigh he noted that everything about this case seemed to revolve around money.  
"What about Mr Tevis?" he asked.  
Phryne rolled her eyes. "I’m afraid we didn’t talk about Ned. Aunt Prudence can’t abide him. She blames him for pretty much everything Guy has ever done. Which is of course ridiculous, but don’t let her hear that."  
She took a large gulp of her whiskey. No, she had just not been ready to jump into that breach just yet.  
"He’s the second son of an outrageously wealthy family. Not as rich as Tomlinson, but definitely nothing to frown upon. Business partners of Uncle Edward, I believe. I don’t know exactly how much money he has, but I’m fairly sure there is an allowance and he is smarter than he pretends to be. He doesn’t do anything of course. At least not anything useful. It’s all very typical and not very interesting. He likes a good party and drinks too much from what I hear. There were rumours about an engagement a few years back, but then nothing ever came of it."  
Phryne shrugged dismissively. "Laura Beauford on the other hand," she said "Aunt P adores her."  
Jack nodded. He had no trouble seeing that. Mrs Stanley would appreciate a smart, graceful and proper woman.  
"So what’s her story?"  
"She’s the daughter of a diplomat, travelled around a lot when she was young. I suppose that’s how she met Alec Beauford. His family is from Gibraltar." Phryne added in reply to Jack’s questioningly raised eyebrow. "That’s were he gets that gorgeous Mediterranean look from. But I digress.”  
He didn’t miss her cheeky grin, but let it pass in the hope she would keep talking, which she did graciously.  
"They only steadily moved to Melbourne when they got married, just before the war. Aunt P recalls that there were rumours about her and Tomlinson at the time. They were apparently very close. But then she married Beauford and the general consensus is the two are absolutely devoted to each other." she rolled her eyes at the last part.  
As much as the secret romantic in her cherished the idea of a couple that was still very much in love after nearly two decades of marriage, in terms of a murder investigation it was less than helpful. Besides, the cynical part of her whispered that this whole story was way too perfect to be true.  
Jack seemed to think in a different direction.  
"Any signs there were tensions about his lack of work?" he asked.  
Phryne could only shrug. "Again, hard to say. It doesn’t appear so, but who knows what goes on behind closed doors. At least no one seems to suspect anything."  
"Do you think it’s actually possible that Tomlinson simply left all his money to the daughter of an old friend?" he pondered.  
"Might depend on what kind of old friends they were." she replied suggestively.  
The two detectives exchanged a look.  
"You think...?" he didn’t need to finish his question.  
"Who knows what the real reason was they didn’t marry. Maybe she left him for Beauford." Phryne suggested.  
"And he in turn bequeaths his estate to his rival’s daughter?" Jack asked utterly sceptical.  
Phryne shrugged. "Maybe he thought she wasn’t his rival’s daughter." she suggested.

"Anything from the alibis?" Phryne inquired a moment later, while the Inspector still considered her idea. He shook his head.  
"The servants went to bed between nine and eleven. At that time the lady and gentlemen were still in the library. No one saw them go to bed, but according to them Madden was first out, then Mrs Beauford, Alec Beauford states with absolute certainty that Tomlinson was still up when he and Tevis went upstairs around half past one and Tevis claims alcohol induced amnesia after his second gin and tonic."  
Phryne furrowed her brow. "After the second already? Ned used to be a lot better at holding his liquor." she observed.  
Jack smiled. "I believe it wasn’t the first type of drink he indulged in that night, Miss Fisher." he hinted.  
Phryne nodded. That sounded more like the Ned she knew. And it would explain his state. Mixing spirits was never a good idea, in her experience.  
"So we’ll talk to the Beaufords again tomorrow?"  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "We, Miss Fisher?"  
She rolled her eyes at his teasing.  
"I’ve been doing half the work in this case Jack, you can’t suddenly decide to push me out."  
He tilted his head lightly and hummed as if he was contemplating her argument. She was still standing directly in front of him at the mantle where she had come and distracted him earlier. Now she was gently stroking his lapels and tilted her head so she looked up to him from under her lashes.  
"Are you staying tonight?" she asked quietly.  
He took a deep breath, which didn’t do him an awful lot of good, since it mostly filled his lungs with her perfume.  
"I have to be at work early tomorrow." he pointed out.  
She smiled a dangerously innocent little smile. "So?"

 

"What are you thinking about?" Jack asked quietly.  
Phryne re-adjusted her head on his chest. She had almost convinced herself that he had fallen asleep a while ago, but for his thumb that drew lazy cycles on her shoulder.  
"Is it the case?"  
She shook her head, contemplating how to breach the subject that had spun around her head since last night. Since that damned conversation about phone numbers really. It had shocked her how worried Jack had been about this relatively harmless suggestion and even worse that he had been right. She had mulled over her own reaction all afternoon. The solution was simple: There were no back lanes, no ticks or ways around when it came to Jack, so the only way was to face her concerns (she refused to call them fears) head on and take a leap.  
"I’ve been thinking that I don’t hate this." she finally offered.  
Jack waited patiently for her to elaborate.  
"Being in a commited relationship, I mean. I always thought I would. But now, I don’t." she licked her suddenly dry lips.  
Jack almost imperceptibly tightened his arm around her. Just a tiny squeeze that told her how much he appreciated her words.  
"Instead" she pushed bravely on. "I find myself hating having to invite you everyday."  
He stilled. "What do you mean?"  
Was it just her imagination or did his voice sound strained. She didn’t dare raise her head to look at his face. His heartbeat was still steady and she listened to it for a moment to gather her courage again.  
"I hate that I have to ask if you’ll come over for dinner and drinks and if you’ll stay the night. And when you asked about the phone number yesterday... I realised, you really do practically live here. Maybe you should actually live here."  
The last sentence was uttered in such a small voice that Jack for a moment wasn’t sure if she had actually said. She didn’t sound like Phryne at all in that moment. Carefully he raised his arm, the one he hadn’t wrapped around her, and very gently lifted her chin, so he could look into her eyes. They were big and bright and looked at him with a mixture of hope, worry and something else, he wasn’t quite sure about. A mixture that was so atypical for the self-assured, happy-go-lucky Miss Fisher he knew that it almost broke his heart.  
"Are you asking me to move in with you?" he asked trying to make it sound light.  
She picked up on the bantering tone, relieved to find safe ground in the familiar way the conversation progressed. She really had thought about this all day and the realisation of just how much she worried about his answer had rather unsettled her.  
"Well, you said yourself separate houses don’t work out and it makes so much more sense economically, since you’re barely in your own apartment. It’s hardly worth paying the rent and you could save on the housekeeper."  
He nodded as if he was pondering that. "Economic sense? Hm. That’s an important consideration these days." He agreed trying not to smile.  
"Of course there are other considerations." he added now a little more serious.  
"Such as?" She tried to keep the light banter, not really sure how she would react to him declining. He sighed deeply.  
"Propriety. My own pride. Security."  
"You don’t really care about propriety, do you Jack?" she asked, again teasing, mostly because she didn’t want to think about the other two points he had raised.  
"Not as much as I used to" he admitted with a rare grin, before he turned serious again. "But the guys at Russell Street might. You know how Wolfe reacted, when we were in the papers together the last time. Or yesterday at the theatre. Living together, in sin as it were, is a whole different kind of trouble. And I can’t fault him for that either. I’m an officer of the law. I’m expected to life up to certain moral standards."  
"A lot of your officers don’t life up to those." she pointed out, but she knew he had a point.  
And that he had always aspired to uphold those standards, no matter what others did or said. That’s what made him a good cop and one she could respect.  
"Phryne, I would love to move in here permanently. The fact that you ask me to makes me happier than I can possibly say. But I can’t compromise my professional integrity." he said seriously.  
She sighed. "I’m not asking you to, Jack. I would never ask that of you."  
He smiled at her words and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  
"I’m sure, if anyone can find a solution, it’s you, Miss Fisher."  
She smiled gently. "Us, Jack. Best together, remember?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bridge and the war memorial Phryne mentions are of course the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Shrine of Remembrance in Melbourne. Both started construction in the late 1920s and weren’t finished yet by 1930. Building Canberra officially started n 1913. World wars, financial difficulties and politics contiuned to delay progress until way into the 50s. There really was a lot of construction going on all over Australia in that time, not just churches.


	8. I'm sure I don't know

Hugh was anything but happy, when the first order of the new day was to bring in yet another Catholic priest for questioning. He was glad to find that Father Morris was nothing like Father O’Leary and came along without making a fuss, although his voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper and he kept twiddling the beads of his rosary so violently Hugh was worried it would tear in the car.  
Detective Inspector Robinson greeted the nervous man politely, but saw no reason to reassure him at this stage. Quite the opposite in fact, he let Hugh know without so many words, that no tea would be needed for their visitor and he was to be put in the interview room, not the Inspector’s office.  
"We have a witness who heard you argue with Mr Tomlinson the day before he died."  
Jack cut immediately to the chase. The man in front of him slumped into his seat even more than he already had. At his current state it almost seemed incredible that he would ever have an argument with any one at all, even less one that got heated enough to be heard in another room.  
"He came in that day." Morris confirmed quietly.  
"And you argued." Jack prompted.  
The priest gave a slight nod.  
"He wasn’t happy with the way his donations were being handled."  
"How so?"  
Morris looked at the Inspector for a long moment. Then he straightened up and sat very tall. His face took on a defiant look that took Jack by surprise.  
"I don’t have to tell you Inspector what it looks like, out there.” Father Morris voice was clear and steady now. “What the recession does to people. Not people like Mark Tomlinson, no, but thousands of others who lost everything. He donated thousands of pounds for that stupid tower. A monument to his pride." the priest almost snarled. "While hundreds of people out on them streets are all but starving. I couldn’t stand by and watch that. Not with all that money lying around in the registry."  
"You used the money for charity." Jack nodded understandingly.  
He had to admit he couldn’t entirely fault the man. Police work had tripled since the crash. Semi lawless neighbourhoods similar to what had previously been mostly limited to Collingwood and maybe Fitzroy were expanding. Poverty was spreading like wildfire in the previously better off areas and what had been desolate before was turning desperate.  
"How did Tomlinson find out?" he asked, trying to stay on track.  
Morris swallowed. "He had telephoned the Bishop, that’s Barry, over something or other and somehow it came out that there was less money in the tower fund than there should have been. He came straight to me and made a dreadful scene. Called it embezzlement and threatened to tell the Bishop and the police."  
Morris looked Jack straight in the eyes. "I suppose you want to arrest me now, Inspector?" he asked.  
Jack tilted his head.  
"I’m looking for a murderer, father. And I’m sure the police isn’t concerned in the matters of how the church deals its donations. I’ve once been told they answer to a higher power."  
The relief on Morris face was palpable.  
"But you did have a motive to kill Mr Tomlinson." Jack added.  
This time there was no defiance, just plain panic.  
"I would never kill a man." Morris whispered his eyes wide like saucers. "I couldn’t. I didn’t even fight in the war. I was a conchy."  
The last words where mere breaths so Jack guessed them more than actually hear them.  
"You had a motive if Tomlinson threatened to expose your re-routing of the church funds." he pointed out.  
"And I would have gladly gone to prison for that, Inspector." Morris straightened up again. "I am not ashamed of what I did."  
The Inspector had to give him credit, when it came to his pastoral duties the priest seemed truly devoted. The change between the nervous little man and the defiant man of faith was astounding  
"But would you have born a punishment from the Bishop the same way? You could have lost your parish." he suggested.  
To his surprise Morris shook his head determinedly.  
"The Bishop wouldn’t have done that. He’s a good man. He knows I did the right thing."  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Can you be sure of that?"  
"Yes."  
"How?"  
"The Bishop is my confessor."

 

"So we have another suspect with a motive that’s not really strong enough to make the case, but too strong to be disregarded." Miss Fisher summed up when he told her about his interview with the vicar on their way to the Beauford family.  
Phryne had graciously consented to let him deal with Morris on his own, in exchange for an hour or two more sleep, but had made it to the station just when he was about to head out to his next interview.  
"That seems to be a running theme in this case, Miss Fisher. Unfortunately he is so far also the only one of our suspects who has a watertight alibi. When Tomlinson was pushed down the tower Father Morris was conducting a service in front of over a hundred witnesses." Jack sighed.  
"Well, let’s see if the Beaufords fall into that pattern, shall we Inspector." she said with renewed vigour.

It turned out Alec Beauford wasn’t at home, but his wife greeted them politely. After the offer of tea had been declined all three took seats in the parlour. It was slightly bigger than Phryne’s but appeared even larger through its large French windows and light coloured walls that contrasted with Mrs Beauford’s dark clothes. She wore a midnight blue dress just this side of black, not quite mourning, but close enough to convey a certain gravitas.  
"We’re here about Mr Tomlinson’s will." Jack opened the interview.  
He watched Mrs Beauford’s reaction carefully, but all he could see was mild surprise and polite curiosity.  
"Were you aware he had left everything to your daughter?"  
Her face indicated she had not. Her lips formed a small, surprised ‚o‘ and her eyes were wide.  
"I assure you Inspector, I had no idea." she stated after a moment of collecting herself. "I can’t believe it. He never hinted at anything like that."  
"Can you think of a reason why he would do such a thing?" Jack inquired.  
She shook her head, whether it was still in disbelieve or in reply to his question was not entirely clear.  
"I would have never dreamed he’d do anything like that." she said. "He always seemed rather spiteful of Ava."  
While Jack conducted the interview Phryne had taken in the room.  
"Is this your daughter?" she asked and got to her feet to pick up a framed photograph from the mantle piece. It showed a teenage girl in school uniform. She was lanky and not very developed, together with her fair braids and the large eyes she looked very young, an impression that was strangely not helped at all by her serious expression and proudly raised head. Mrs Beauford’s face softened as she looked at the photograph.  
"Yes, that’s Ava. That was taken last year." she smiled. "I really wish photographers would encourage people to smile in these rather than make them look like they’re heading to a funeral." she said wistfully. "She looks so much prettier when she smiles."  
Suddenly she seemed to remember something. She turned to the Inspector.  
"Ava is only sixteen, what will happen to the company until she comes of age?" she asked.  
"It appears you have been named trustee until your daughter is old enough to take on her inheritance, Mrs Beauford." Jack informed her.  
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh dear, Mark." she muttered.  
"Mrs Beauford, I have to ask you, how is your and your husbands financial status?" the Inspector prodded.  
For a moment she looked at him utterly stunned. Then she nodded slowly.  
"Of course. You need to make sure none of us killed Mark for the money. Unfortunately for us I can’t say that we didn’t need it." she sighed. "You have probably heard that Alec struggles professionally. And on top of that we lost quite a few of our assets in the crash. It’s not completely dire just yet, but I don’t know how long we could last as things are."  
She met Jack’s eyes unflinchingly. "That money comes just at the right time I’m sad to say Inspector. And I can’t offer anything other than my word that I had no idea about Mark’s will. To be honest, I never even thought about who he would leave his money to. I know he has no family, but I guess I never really considered the possibility that he could die." she smiled sadly.

 

"She was forthcoming." Phryne noted critically on their return to the station. Jack shrugged out of his coat.  
"She is a smart woman, she knew we would figure it out anyways." he stated.  
Miss Fisher groaned and slumped on his visitor chair.  
"So now we have three people who have motives but none strong or safe enough to gives us anything definitive. Brilliant."  
Jack nodded. He had to agree with her and he wasn’t any happier about their situation than her.  
"She could have lied about not knowing." he pointed out.  
Phryne huffed. "Did you see the picture of our lucky heiress?" she asked.  
Jack nodded. "She looked very young." he noted.  
Phryne nodded. "She has fair hair." she hinted.  
"Yes." he confirmed, not entirely sure where she was going with this.  
"Alec Beauford and his family are from Gibraltar. How many people do you know with Mediterranean heritage that are blond. Especially if neither of the parents is."  
Jack tilted his head. "What are you insinuating Miss Fisher?" he asked.  
She merely shrugged.  
"Nothing. But you might have noticed that our victim is rather fair haired. Just in case we’re looking for a reason he might have had to bequest her his entire estate."

 

For the first time it occurred to Phryne that she knew precious little about the production of gasoline. She had always taken great pride in at least having a basic knowledge of any engine she operated, whether it was her beloved Hispano or the Moth, but she had to admit she had so far had little interest in the liquid that propelled them, beyond knowing where it went and what it did. The blending plant was a revelation in that regard. For one thing the stench was breathtaking. Phryne had so far always loved the smell of motor oil and fuel, because it represented for her a sense of freedom, her ability to go anywhere she wanted, at any speed she trusted herself to push her vehicle to. The vapours that hovered in the factory halls however, made her eyes water and her windpipe contract. She couldn’t imagine working in this stench for hours on end could be anything but unhealthy. She found sympathy for Mr Feng’s cause rise in her heart.  
The plant wasn’t particularly heavily secured, so she could sneak in without much trouble. Apparently sabotage was not something Mr Tomlinson had been concerned about. She had decided to visit Mr Feng at his work were there was little chance of him running away and he would not have the tactical advantage of being in Chinatown or one of the communist clubrooms where she would be outnumbered. There were still plenty of Chinese working in the plant though, just as Camellia and Mrs Lin had indicated. When she started searching for Feng among the workers she noticed most of them had their mouths and noses covered with all kinds of pieces of cloth, presumably to protect themselves at least a little from the vapours. She decided to follow their lead. Unfortunately she didn’t have a scarf with her since it was still fairly warm so she had to cover her own airways with a handkerchief pressed to her face. It didn’t help with the suspicious looks she got from the workers though. She was just about to work out what to tell the foreman heading her way with a deep frown showing above his respiratory protection, a lovely polka dotted neckerchief, as to why she was on the factory floor, when a bell rang out through the hall. Impatient ruffling filled the factory within seconds. Workers climbed down from their machines and headed hurriedly towards the various exits.  
"About time." one passing Phryne muttered. "Took ages today. I could kill for a puff."  
The one next to him agreed. Miss Fisher didn’t hesitate to turn on her heel and follow the workforce outside. Most of them struggled out of their overalls as quickly as they could and then headed to the gate to exit the compound. Phryne followed them intrigued. As soon as she had passed the gate she was surrounded by smoke. Assessing the situation she judged she wouldn’t have a lot of time to talk to her suspect. On inquiry one of the smokers pointed her towards the lunch banks inside the premises where she indeed found Feng Huang.  
He sat on one of the banks by himself, leaned back, eyes closed, facing the autumn sun as if he was ready to fall asleep. She sat a bit further down the same bench, but he didn‘t even flinch.  
"It seems remarkable Mr Tomlinson would let his workers leave the factory for a smoko." she stated.  
His eyes flicked open at the sound of a female voice, but he didn’t move beyond that.  
"Even Mr Tomlinson had to accept that the men won’t be kept from their smokes, even if it kills them. Better they indulge their habits outside. In there a spark at the wrong place could blow us all to kingdom come." he said dryly.  
Phryne nodded, of course, that would be the reason.  
"Phryne Fisher." She introduced herself.  
"You’re Chung’s concubine." he said calmly.  
It didn’t sound like an insult, more like he was trying to place her. She didn’t bother to disagree.  
"I was hired by his grandmother to investigate Mark Tomlinson." she said instead.  
He frowned. "Luózé hired you to investigate Mark Tomlinson’s death?" he asked.  
Phryne shook her head, both in answer to his question and astonishment at the fact that Granny Lin actually had a first name and that there was someone who called her by it.  
"No, she hired me before that. To find out what kind of hold he had over you and how it could be broken."  
A thin, sarcastic smile played around Feng’s mouth.  
"Well, that shouldn’t be a problem anymore now, should it." he said and for the first time Phryne saw something of the man she had read about in the police file his eyes.  
Before she could come up with a reply the bell rang again and he got to his feet.  
"Gotta go back to work." he said and gone he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my Chinese dictionary Luózé (罗泽) is an actual Chinese female first name. Apparently it means Rose. Not very creative, I know, but since she is a somewhat thorny person it kinda fits, I thought. 
> 
> The notion of smiling for photographs only came up in the second half of the 20th century. Before people would look very serious on portraits, because they thought it looked better (and presumably because it was easier to maintain in the early days, when photos took several minutes to shoot). 
> 
> Edit: It only just occured to me Granny Lin may have a first name in the books, but if she does, I don't know it.


	9. Old Father Baldpate

"Sorry to hear you weren’t more successful either. One might fear you’re loosing your touch." Jack said with a grin, shuffling his paperwork aside so Phryne could perch on her favourite corner of his desk.  
This time it was the Beauford finances. He disguised his own disappointment by teasing her a little. Knowing her the way he did, he had actually put his hopes on her to get something out of Feng.  
"I’m not done with him yet Jack." she stated defiantly, causing a tiny smile to play around the edges of his mouth.  
"Didn’t think you were, Miss Fisher."  
"I did find out though that Feng is probably right about Tomlinson exploiting the workers. I can’t imagine the working conditions in that place are legal. The only reason they got a break at all it seems was that Tomlinson was afraid they’d blow up his factory otherwise."  
Jack frowned. He decided not to ask how exactly she knew that. That way he could at least claim plausible deniability when she would get, yet again, be sued for trespassing or worse. He decided to concentrate on the information she had found instead.  
"It makes even less sense then that Feng would have stepped back and behaved." he noted.  
Miss Fisher nodded. "I think we can almost certainly assume some kind of blackmail on Tomlinson’s part, Jack. He must have had something to keep Feng in line."  
"Must have been something good." Jack agreed. "I can’t imagine there’s much that a man like Feng would be ashamed of and it doesn’t seem like he’s afraid to be arrested either."  
He shuffled more paper together, trying not to groan at the mere sight of them. He didn’t usually mind financial records, he had a good mind for numbers, but in this case he didn’t seem to be doing much else.  
"Maybe I should check his finances, too, since that’s all this case seems to be about." he muttered "Maybe he’s secretly rich."  
"He wouldn’t have to take money from Granny Lin then." Phryne pointed out. "Anything on the Beaufords?"  
He harrumphed dismissively. "Yes and no. Their financial situation was pretty much like Mrs Beauford described: tenuous but not dire. They can certainly use the money the girl inherits, but they’re not going to have to beg without it either."  
"Doesn’t mean they didn’t do it." she noted.  
He shook his head. "No, it’s still a strong motive, but if they did it was for greed, not for desperation."  
There was a knock on the door before Hugh put his head through.  
"A call from the Commissioner, Sir." he reported. "He would like to see you before the end of your shift."  
Jack groaned but nodded. "Thank you Collins."  
"And Dot is here for Miss Fisher, Sir. For her appointment?"  
Now it was Miss Fisher’s turn to groan.  
"I almost forgot. Thank you Hugh." She got to her feet.  
"Millie Wilton’s birthday party." she explained.  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "The young race driver?"  
"She’s turning 18 and while her ox of a father is trying to make a proper lady out of her, her uncle is more indulgent and throwing her a big bash." she explained.  
Jack just shook his head. "Why doesn’t that surprise me? You’ll be out all night then?"  
"Afraid so. You could catch up on that sleep you’ve been talking about missing out on."  
She gave him her impish smile that made him forgive her for almost anything.  
"I could probably live with that. Begrudgingly." They shared a quick kiss before he accompanied her out.  
"Ah Dot" Miss Fisher greeted her assistant "You’ll be glad to hear, that we could eliminate Father Morris from our list of suspects."  
"I am Miss." Dot smiled. "So he is innocent?"  
"He has no real motive and a pretty good alibi." Inspector Robinson explained and outlined what the priest had told them about the donation.  
To his surprise the smile on Dot’s face dropped half way through. Phryne noticed, too.  
"Is everything alright Dot?"  
Mr and Mrs Collins exchanged a look.  
"What is it Collins? Out with it." Jack looked from one to the other.  
"Well, Sir, the thing is, if Father Morris confessed to the Bishop of his ... use of the donation money, the Bishop couldn’t have done a thing about it."  
Jack waited for him to explain, which was when Dot ventured in.  
"Confession is confidential. Anything a confessor hears he can never admit to knowing outside of the box. So the Bishop couldn’t act on anything he heard there, not officially. He could have made sure that Father Morris wasn’t in charge of the money anymore, but that’s all. If Mr Tomlinson had told him on the other hand..."  
"That could have been information he could use to reprimand Morris." the Inspector finished the thought.  
Both Collinses nodded emphatically.  
"Damn."  
Phryne could only agree with the sentiment. "So now we have a suspect with a strong motive who can’t possibly have done it. Wonderful." she said sarcastically.

 

There could be no mistaking what this meeting was going to be about, as soon as Jack saw his personnel file on the commissioner’s desk. Damn. For a moment the thought occurred to him that he should have just told Phryne last night he that he would love to move in with her without any reservations. At least then it would have been worth the trouble he was sure he was in now.  
"Ah, Robinson. How are you getting on with the Tomlinson case?" Wolfe greeted him jovially.  
He took the report on the case without much comment. He, too, winced at the implications of what Dot and Hugh had said. But neither of them had truly expected that there wouldn’t be any more ties to the Catholic Church given the crime scene and the connections of the victim.  
"As far as I know the Bishop is still not in town, but I’ll make a few phone calls so we can get his statement." the Commissioner assured the Inspector.  
"Thank you, Sir." Jack nodded appreciatively.  
Whatever there was to be said against Wolfe, he always had his men’s backs professionally, and at least for that Jack was grateful.  
"There is just one more thing, Robinson." Wolfe added, when there was nothing left to say on the case.  
There it was. Jack mentally prepared himself.  
"I’ve noticed you changed your details." he tapped on the file. "Are you moving, Inspector?"  
"Considering it, Sir." Jack admitted.  
He decided not bring Phryne in if he didn’t have to, while sticking to the truth as much as possible. God, she really was rubbing off on him. But the fact was that exactly where he spend his time off was none of his bosses business. As he had explained to Phryne the other night, he was well aware that he could get in serious trouble if he did anything more scandalous than discreetly spend the nights and take her out, but so far there wasn’t anything more. Amending his contact details had been a purely practical idea, although he now regretted it a little. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of moving to Wardlow at that moment and her suggestion had seriously surprised him. It was the fact that she had suggested it more than the suggestion itself that had made his heart leap. He had never expected she would compromise her own freedom and commit so fully to him, even though he truly believed that she loved him. It had overjoyed him equally as it had unsettled him. He had gotten rather comfortable the way they were, not expecting anything to change, or rather hoping nothing would and her suggestion had somewhat shaken that hope. Aside from the public appearance aspect he was a little wary about the idea in the whole. He hadn’t quipped when he had said that his pride was an issue to be considered. If he moved in at Wardlow, he would be living under her roof, with her staff, essentially spending her money. It didn’t really matter that he already did that technically. He could hardly remember the last time he had had food at his own place. But every time he did eat, sleep, drank or did anything in her home he did so on her explicit invitation, even if it was a mere formality at this point. But formalities were important. If he moved in there it would be taking all that for granted, as if he had a right to and then he could hardly blame anyone for thinking him a gold digger or a kept man. He would be a kept man in effect. His own apartment, small and underused as it was represented his independence. He almost had to laugh at the irony of him being the one worrying about his independence, when she was the one who had always been afraid a committed relationship would cage her. Sometimes he wondered if there would ever be a time when people could just be together and didn’t have to marry, just so they wouldn’t have to worry about such nonsense. He had absolutely no illusions about Phryne’s stand on marriage and he had accepted it. It only meant that things were a little more complicated for them. But then again when were they ever simple where Miss Fisher was concerned. Of course he didn’t voice any of these thoughts to the Chief Commissioner.  
Wolfe harrumphed dissatisfied.  
"I’ve been looking the other way with you quite a lot, Robinson, so don’t play me for a fool. I am well aware that the address and telephone number of 221B the Esplanade is Miss Fisher’s address. Courting her is one thing, but Russell Street cannot be seen to condone any kind of inappropriate behaviour in our officers. We are public figures Robinson and we have to adhere to the highest moral standards."  
Jack nodded dully. "I’m aware, Sir. That’s why we haven’t made a decision yet." he offered. Among other reasons.  
Wolfe’s face was stern.  
"You’re a good cop Robinson and I have no doubt that you’re a clean one, too, which is why I’ve been cutting you and Miss Fisher a lot of slack. Your work speaks for itself; that is not the issue. But the Victorian Police can simply not have another scandal, especially not one involving you. Between arresting the mayor and the Chief Commissioner, and stepping out with Miss Fisher, you’re in the papers far too often for anyone’s good Robinson."  
That at least Jack could unreservedly agree with. "It’s not like I set out to be, Sir." he pointed out with a last bit of defiance.  
"But you do." Wolfe disagreed. "You get high profile cases and when you solve them well, there is nothing to be said against positive news coverage, but when you keep the company, in whatever capacity, of one of the most scandalous women in town, you can’t expect to be kept out of the limelight. Now whatever you do with that woman, I need you to always consider the headline it would make if the press caught wind of it. And consider that I would have to react accordingly, for the sake of protecting the force. As much as I wouldn’t like it, I would not have a choice."


	10. Pancakes and Fritters

Despite having been out the previous night Phryne was down in the kitchen for breakfast at the respectable hour of nine-thirty. It had only been an eighteenth birthday after all and therefore hadn’t lasted until the small hours. And she was in the middle of a case. She had been vaguely disappointed to find her bed empty all the same, both when she made in back home and when she woke up in the morning.  
Her mood instantly brightened when Mr Butler informed her, after pouring her an excellent cup of coffee, that the Inspector had called in before his shift and asked her to join him for lunch.  
"Thank you Mr Butler." she said with a bright smile, angling for a piece of toast. "Did he say if I should bring him said lunch or...?"  
"He very much insisted you didn’t, Miss." her servant relayed.  
Phryne’s smiled widened a fraction. As much as she loved lunch on Jack’s desk, nothing could beat a proper lunch date with her Inspector. Well, nothing except a dinner date. Or breakfast in bed. She smiled to herself. The day was looking up.  
"Have Bert and Cec been in this morning Mr B?" she asked chewing on her breakfast.  
"I believe they’ve taken Mrs Collins to Church, Miss. On your commission, she said."  
Mr Butler did not sound surprised. He would never sound surprised and he would never be surprised about anything his Mistress did or ordered her staff to do. Even if that order was to send Dorothy Collins to church, which was very much like Hamlet being paid to debate mortality by Puck.  
Phryne nodded pleased. "I’m guessing a service on Wednesday won’t be as crowded as the Sunday event but it should do to establish the facts, I hope."  
"Of course, Miss." Mr Butler agreed.

 

It was nearly eleven by the time the Cabbies returned Dot to the house where Mr Butler expertly delayed them until Mrs Collins had reported to her employer.  
"It doesn’t look like there’s much of a chance he could have done it, Miss." she said after Miss Fisher had ushered her to a seat.  
There really was no need for that kind of fussing, but Dot had realized months ago that there was no point in arguing about it. Since she was pregnant and especially since it was clearly visible Miss Fisher insisted on making Dot comfortable when she had the chance to. She didn’t coddle her too much, thankfully, and she still allowed her to work and to help with her cases, as long as there was nothing potentially dangerous involved.  
"There doesn’t seem to be any time during the service that Father Morris was absent from the church. Definitely not long enough to run up the tower and back."  
Phryne huffed. "So the priests alibi stands. If you think the service is the same on a Wednesday as it is on a Sunday, Dot?"  
"Oh it certainly isn’t Miss. The Sunday mass will be a lot longer and I’m guessing there’ll be more altar boys and proper intercessions, but the Priest has to be there at all times either way."  
Miss Fisher nodded "Thank you Dot. I just needed to be sure about this. You know, never take anyone’s words for anything until tested and all that."  
Dot agreed. "Of course, Miss. No trouble at all. It was a very nice service."

In the kitchen Bert and Cec were being pampered by Mr Butler just as Phryne had ordered. She was hoping a good cuppa and some of Dot’s best biscuits would put them in a good mood. It seemed to work so far.  
"G’day Miss." Cec greeted her with a smile. Bert just tapped his hat, mouth full.  
"Good Morning." Phryne replied cheerfully. "I need your help gentlemen."  
"What’s it gonna be Miss?" Cec asked cordially.  
"I need you to tell me everything you know about Feng Huang."  
The two men exchanged a look.  
"He seems like a decent fellow." Cec said tentatively.  
Bert grumbled in agreement. "He’s alright for a chink."  
Phryne observed them closely. "But?" she prompted.  
"He was alright, fighting the good fight, always one to raise his fist for the cause." Bert said. "Until he started working for that Tomlinson bloke in the petrol plant. Ruddy slaver that one."  
"It was odd like, though" Cec chimed in. "‘e left the docks, to work for Tomlinson, because ‘e wanted to get them workers there riled up. But soon as ‘e started there ’e got tame as a lamb."  
Miss Fisher nodded thoughtful. That went with her theory that Tomlinson had had some kind of leverage over Feng to keep him compliant.  
"You wouldn’t know what a man like Tomlinson could have on Feng, would you?" she asked.  
The two cabbies shrugged.  
"He don’t seem like the type who’d respond to blackmail." Bert observed.  
Phryne decided there and then she would never tell either him or Jack that the two agreed on something other than a football team.  
"Where would I find Feng, when he’s not working in the petrol plant?" she asked instead.  
Another quick look was exchanged between the two men. Finally Cec sighed.  
"Do you remember the European Club, Miss?"

 

Jack was already waiting for her, by the time she made it to City South. It hadn’t been easy to convince Bert and Cec to spy on one of their comrades, even if he had gone a bit soft. Unfortunately after her last foray into the world of communism Phryne was quite sure she wouldn’t be all too welcome at the European Club. And it was most likely not the kind of setting where Feng would spill his secrets to her. The cabbies had after heavy interrogation conceded to gathering information about Feng.  
"If we know what’s been holding him back at the Tomlinson plant, maybe we can help him." Phryne had suggested.  
Now if the Cabbies trusted in one thing it was Miss Fisher’s ability to help people. So they had finally agreed, but not until she had to break several traffic laws in order to make it on time for lunch. Not that she would have driven in any other manner had she been on time, but that was hardly the point.  
She had barely climbed out of the car when she spied Jack waiting at the entrance to the police station.  
"This parking spot is reserved for the Victorian Police, Miss Fisher." he chided good-naturedly.  
"Well, a good thing then that I’m here to pick up a police officer, Inspector." she replied not in the least affected and gave him a radiant smile.  
"Now what was your plan for today, Jack? Not the pie cart I hope."  
"Goodness, no."  
Jack shuddered involuntarily. The more time he spend at Wardlow with Mr Butler’s magnificent cooking the less he found himself able to tolerate the questionable nutrition of this time honoured police tradition. He was getting spoiled he realised and he couldn’t bring himself to care even a little bit.  
"I was thinking that place by the pier we wanted to try."

‘That place’ was a lovely little tea house near the pier in St Kilda, they had discovered the other week after an afternoon on the beach. The owner had apparently newly immigrated from Egypt and the whole place looked rather like something from a colonial dream from the last century. As it turned out however, they made very good tea and even better pastries. They even had Jack’s beloved ham, cheese and mustard pickle sandwiches on the menu. For a few minutes the two detectives simply gorged themselves on their lunch in silence.  
"Dot confirmed Father Morris alibi this morning." Phryne said finally.  
Jack didn’t interrupt his meal, but his eyes were fixed on her, signalling his undivided attention. As undivided as it would ever be while he was eating.  
"I send her to his service this morning and she confirmed that he was in the church the whole time."  
Jack washed down the last bite of his sandwich with a gulp of tea before he answered:  
"I talked with the Bishop this morning. His office called from Canberra. He agreed with what the Collinses said about being unable to act on something he heard in confession. But he also said he had had no intention of dismissing Father Morris, even if he could have. He merely intended to make sure the donations were solely managed by Bishop Berry from now on. And apparently he told Morris as much."  
"So he doesn’t have a proper motive either." Miss Fisher summed up. "Seems like we can let Father Morris off the suspect list for good."  
The Inspector hummed in agreement. He had moved on from the sandwiches to biscuits and scones.  
"But I should have more information on Mr Feng by this evening." she said optimistically. "I sent Bert and Cec to ask around a bit."  
Jack harrumphed. Sometimes it really was a pity he wasn’t a betting man.  
"I thought we’d end up there." he admitted. "Asking the red-raggers for help."  
"Well, they can surely get a lot closer than either of us, Jack. Comrade to comrade Feng might act a little less like shellfish and become a bit more like a flower instead."  
Jack tilted his head a little. "I doubt he’ll suddenly turn into a tulip, Miss Fisher. Not even under the beaming ray of sunshine that is Albert Johnson." he said dryly, even as his eyes sparkled humorously.  
Phryne couldn’t help a chuckle. Bert was many things, but no one could accuse him of a generally sunny disposition.  
"Well, at least I’m doing something. What clues have you unearthed this morning?" she defended herself.  
"I have not been entirely idle either, Miss Fisher." Jack had her know.  
“I did follow up on your suspicion considering the daughters hair colour.” he reported. “It seems you were right. My contact at hatch, match and dispatch informed me that Mr and Mrs Beauford married on March 12th 1913, their daughter Ava was born the fifth of September that same year.”  
Phryne raised an eyebrow. “That is rather quick, but it doesn’t prove anything. Not everyone is as infuriatingly patient as you are, Jack. She was probably the result of a somewhat too enthusiastic New Years party.”  
Jack nodded, ignoring that stab in his direction. “That was what I thought, too, but” and now she could see he came to the real information in his lecture and his face lit up in that way that on someone else would have been a mischievous grin “Mr Beauford studied in Leeds, in England. He graduated in the European autumn of 1912 and according to his passport didn’t come back to Australia until late January 1913. The 28th to be precise”  
“That does make things rather tight, but an early birth is still within the realm of possibilities.”  
He nodded in agreement. “Possible yes, but very unlikely with a healthy baby of seven pounds and a half.”  
The smile on Phryne’s face was positively radiant. She loved being right.  
"So if Beauford isn’t the father, who then?"  
Jack tilted his head in the way that meant he was fully aware she knew the answer to her own question and only answered to indulge her. It was amazing the things that man could express merely by the angle he crocked his head to, Phryne thought.  
"Tomlinson seems the likely option. It would also explain why her parents were pressing for a marriage." he said.  
Phryne beamed. "Looks like we’re having another chat with Mrs Beauford." she observed. Jack nodded.  
"First though, Miss Fisher, we need to have another chat." he said, feeling the excitement he always felt when on a case with Phryne drain from his body at the mere thought of what he had to discuss with her.  
She red the expression of his face like a book: "Your conversation with the Commissioner?" she speculated.  
"My conversation with the Commissioner." he confirmed.  
"He noticed I added your phone number to my contact sheet and wanted to know if I was moving in with you."  
"To which he said pretty much the same as you have, when we talked about it." she assumed.  
"More or less." he confirmed. "But he added a few details."  
Phryne raised an eyebrow "Such as?"  
"Such as pointing out that, should my conduct be unbecoming of a police officer and be thus exposed, I might loose my position."  
Phryne gasped. "He wouldn’t!" she exclaimed.  
"He might have to." Jack explained.  
Her heart fell at the sight of him.  
"Oh Jack." was all she could think of saying, while she took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.  
Deep down she was furious, not just that anyone could even consider Jack as anything than morally impeccable, which was the most stupid thing fathomable, but also that his association to her brought him close to loosing his job yet again, and for no good reason at all this time. It was simply unfair to him and he didn’t deserve it in the slightest. Not for the first time and probably not for the last she damned social conventions and morality to the deepest, darkest circles of hell. She sighed deeply:  
"So that’s that then, I guess."  
To her surprise Jack tilted her head almost as if amused.  
"It’s not like you to give up so easily, Miss Fisher." he said teasingly.  
"And I wouldn’t" she insisted "not if it was just about me. You know I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, Jack. But this isn’t about me and I would never insist on anything that could hurt you in any way."  
It was his turn to sigh dramatically now. "And here I was hoping you’d come up with an idea when I couldn’t think of one."  
Pleasantly surprised her face lit up to a wicked smiled. He wanted this as much as her. At some point he seemed to have cast aside his doubts. He had made up his mind that he wanted it and it made her absurdly happy. She could almost feel her energy return, the anger transform into determination. Suddenly things didn’t seem as dark and hopeless anymore.  
"Believe me Jack, I will figure something out. That will be the only puzzle I think about as soon as we have found this murderer." she promised.


	11. Pray when will that be

They hadn’t really come to any solution for their personal problems over their lunch, but had to postpone dealing with that particular issue. They had a case after all and the next step was another visit at the Beauford’s house. Just like last time they met Mrs Beauford on her own. Mr Beauford seemed to be an extremely busy man, considering he had trouble getting work, Phryne thought to herself. They were led into the same parlour by the same middle aged maid and Mrs Beauford took the same seat she had at their last visit. This time her dress was actually black with highlights of white silk weaved in to a pattern that gave the whole creation an unexpected lightness, without being frivolous. The only speck of colour came from a set of rubies in a beautiful broche set above her heart that picked up lovely on her hair. Phryne couldn’t help but admire the ensemble. She always appreciated people of sartorial elegance, even in murder suspects and this one had exquisite taste.

"You’re right of course."  
Laura Beauford didn’t seem in the least surprised when the two detectives confronted her about her daughter.  
"So Ava is..." Phryne guessed.  
"Mark’s daughter. Yes." Mrs Beauford confirmed.  
"Did he know?"  
Laura let out a mirthless laugh. "Of course he did. I told him, when I found out I was pregnant. I was young and naive. I thought he loved me and that he would marry me like my parents had been telling me all this time. He of course merely thought I was trying to entrap him."  
Phryne clenched her fists. Mrs Beauford’s calm, matter-of-fact tone only incited her ire against men like Tomlinson more. The woman opposite her had long ago accepted the reality that men could get away with these things and it was a woman’s cross to bear the consequences. It made her intestines cringe to a tight knot.  
"Does your husband know?" Jack asked in his perfectly neutral, judgement-free interrogation voice.  
Miss Fisher could only admire how collected his was, even as she noticed the set of his jaw and the slight tightening around his eyes. His iron composure was one of her favourite things about her Inspector. especially since she had learned to see through it. Mrs Beauford nodded.  
"That’s why he married me." she stated.  
"He married you because you were pregnant with another man’s child?" Jack affirmed her meaning, trying to sound not too incredulous.  
She nodded. "Alec is my best friend. Has been since we were five years old. Save my daughter there is no one in the world I love more than him. Not romantically, but as a friend and companion. Family. I trust him implicitly. So when Mark refused to marry me, I told Alec. We were writing to each other a lot back then. And he suggested that we’d marry. It was a perfect arrangement. I needed a father for my child and he needed a wife with financial means."  
She looked defiantly between the two detectives. "I couldn’t have wished for a better husband than Alec or a better father for Ava."

 

"Her motive grows even stronger." Jack remarked on the way back to the car. "Not only did she stand to gain from Tomlinson’s death,..."  
"She could also want to take revenge on him for dropping her like hot coal all those years ago." Miss Fisher finished the thought. "I agree. Or it could have been her husband. If he feels about her the same way she says she does about him, he could want to take revenge for her."  
"Or just kill Tomlinson for forcing him to raise his child, if he doesn’t." Jack added.  
"You don’t believe her?" Phryne asked.  
He shrugged. "I can’t imagine many men, who would willingly raise another man’s child without complaint. Especially since the Beaufords don’t have any children of their own."  
Phryne shrugged. "I’ve heard of those kinds of arrangements."  
"You have?" Jack raised an eyebrow.  
"They’re more usual when the husband isn’t, well, otherwise likely to marry or very desperate for the dowry."  
"Mrs Beauford brought quite a lot of money into the marriage, if I remember." he mused. "And if he knew about her daughter’s parentage, maybe he tried to blackmail Tomlinson."  
"If that were true it would make more sense if Alec Beauford was the victim. Why would he kill the goose that lays golden eggs?" she disagreed.  
"Because he found out the dead goose would give all her eggs to his daughter." he suggested. “But you’re right. And we didn’t find anything indicating he was being blackmailed in Tomlinson’s finances.” he admitted.  
She hummed indecisively. "You need to bring in Alec Beauford."  
He nodded. "I intend to, Miss Fisher. Will you stick around until we get him or do you have any more social commitments?"  
She tilted her head slightly. "I’ll have you know all my social commitments, apart from one child‘s birthday party, in the last days have been in the name of solving this case Jack."  
He regarded her from the corner of his eyes. "All of them?"  
"All of them." she confirmed.  
"Outings with members of the constabulary aren’t considered social commitments." she added with a grin.  
She was rewarded with one of his tiny smirks that straightened out the corners of his mouth almost invisibly.  
"Aren’t they? Not even in your house?"  
"Especially not in my house. I’m way too selective about the police officers I let into my house."

 

Hugh finally located Alec Beauford after Mrs Beauford had directed them to his club, where he had apparently been working. He didn’t seem surprised about being asked to come in, rather like he’d been waiting for it. Jack took his time to observe the man without his wife for the first time. He was handsome, no doubt and fashionably, but not ostensibly dressed. The Inspector remembered he had cut a rather modest figure next to Ned Tevis. Now, too, he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd with his light grey suit and a burgundy tie. Similar to his wife he appeared very clam and collected, but his eyes seemed to take in everything of importance in the room, maybe a bit more. Jack intended to monitor his reactions very carefully when he started his interview. Every instinct in his body told him that man was hiding something.  
"Did you know Mr Tomlinson made your daughter his sole heir?" he began.  
"Laura told me yesterday." Mr Beauford answered easily. "Before that I had no idea. I didn’t know Mark that well, he wouldn’t have told me. He was always Laura’s friend more than mine. I was surprised to be honest. I always thought he didn’t much care about Ava."  
"Where you aware Ava was Tomlinson’s child?" Phryne asked.  
He nodded. "Yes. And before you ask, yes I was aware of the fact when I married Laura."  
"She said that was why you married her."  
"It was. I couldn’t let her take the social ostracism that an illegitimate child would bring. She didn’t deserve that. She is a wonderful woman and my best friend."  
"You married her out of friendship?" Phryne asked sceptical.  
He looked at her evenly. "Does that surprise you? You might not have a true friend Miss Fisher, but if you did, you knew that that’s what you do for them: you help them when they’re in trouble anyway you can. She didn’t deserve to spend her life in shame just because Mark was an ass."  
"You didn’t like him." Jack observed.  
"Not particularly, no. The way he treated Laura then was disgraceful. I don’t know how she found it in her to forgive him, but she did."  
"And you accepted that?" Jack asked.  
The Architect shrugged. "He hadn’t done anything to me personally, so it wasn’t up to me to forgive him, it was up to her. I accepted her decision, yes."  
"He didn’t do anything to you other than force you to marry a woman he didn’t have the guts to take on himself." Phryne stated.  
Alec laughed darkly. "You don’t get it: I chose to marry Laura, because she is the dearest person in the world to me. I might not have been madly in love with her, but I have never regretted it, not a single day."  
"You’re aware you’re not looking very good in this investigation, Mr Beauford." Jack informed him dryly. "You freely admit you didn’t like the deceased, you had ample opportunity and his death solves all of your financial problems."  
Alec Beauford held his eyes calmly, but Jack didn’t miss that his hands were tightly clenched and his jaw was tight.  
"So am I under arrest, Inspector?" Alec asked evenly.  
"Did you try to blackmail Mr Tomlinson by exposing him as Ava’s father?" Jack asked coolly.  
"What? No!" Beauford seemed utterly taken aback.  
"I could ever do that to Ava. She may not be my blood, but she is my daughter and I love her." he said emphatically. "Was someone blackmailing Mark?"  
"How did you figure out were the key for the bell tower was kept, Mr Beauford?" Phryne asked innocently, ignoring his question. "You’re not a member of St Patrick’s, are you?"  
He looked at her with clear signs of irritation. "No I am not. I‘m not even catholic and I haven’t been inside a church since the war. And I certainly don’t know where they keep the key for their towers. Does that mean I couldn’t have killed him?" He couldn’t entirely hide the hope in his voice.  
Jack suppressed a sigh. Alec had been a good suspect.  
"It would seem so for the moment, Mr Beauford. You’re free to go. For now."

"You just had to spoil it, didn’t you?" the Inspector asked as soon as the door had closed behind their suspect.  
Miss Fisher shrugged with faux innocence. "At least we can rule him out if he didn’t know that he wouldn’t have needed a key."  
"He could have lied." Jack pointed out. "I’m not willing to rule him out just yet. He still has a strong motive, even of he didn’t know about the inheritance, and he has no alibi."  
Phryne had to concede to that. "I agree he and his wife have the strongest motive. But no one has an alibi, except for Father Morris. And plenty of people have motives."  
"Which is why he’s not in a cell right now, Miss Fisher." Jack said.  
Both detectives sat in silence for a few minutes mulling over the two interviews of this afternoon.  
"Do you get the feeling that something’s off about their marriage?" Phryne asked after while.  
Jack shrugged. "Like I said, I’m not sure I could so easily accept someone else’s child, especially if he wasn’t, as he said, madly in love with the mother, but he could just be a better man than me."  
Phryne gave him a gently smile "I seriously doubt that Jack." she said tenderly.  
He smirked. "Which part? That I couldn’t raise someone else’s child or that he’s the better man?"  
"Both. You would marry me instantly if I wound up pregnant, no matter who the father was. And there is no better man than you in all of Australia." she replied with conviction.  
"You wouldn’t let me marry you, even if you were pregnant." he disagreed, but couldn’t help an utterly smitten smile. "Besides, there lies the difference between Mr Beauford and me, because I am madly in love with you."  
She returned his smile with one of her own. "I hope this means you wouldn’t insist on separate bedrooms, then?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation back into the safer waters of banter.  
They had declared their feelings for each other before and she was no longer afraid of the intensity of his devotion to her, nor her own for him, but to talk about it still made her feel a little queasy.  
"I believe it was for Mrs Beauford’s benefit that they didn’t share a room. So I doubt that would ever happen with us." Jack immediately caught on.  
Phryne tilted her head thoughtfully. "See, that’s what I mean Jack. They keep telling us how happy they are, but they keep different bedrooms. They never had more children and I think both of them have more or less admitted their affection is mostly friendly, not romantic. What kind of marriage is that?"  
"By all appearances a happy one." Jack commented. "Not everyone enjoys intimate relations as much as you do." he pointed out with a smirk.  
"Only those who’ve never experienced them done well." she disagreed.  
He couldn’t deny that, but pointed out not everyone was lucky enough to make that experience.  
"I’m not the expert on arranged marriages Phryne, but to me it seems if you have to marry someone you don’t choose, you would be lucky at least to marry a good friend."  
She had to admit he had a point, but it somehow still didn’t sit right. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was. It didn’t help that her experience with marriage wasn’t exactly exhaustive. In that regard Jack definitely had one on her.  
"But I did get the distinct impression he was hiding something." her Inspector said after a longer moment of silence, starling her somewhat.  
"Ha! So you noticed it too." she exclaimed triumphantly.  
He nodded. "I’m not sure it’s related to his marriage though. I just have a feeling he might have said something else, before you came to his rescue."


	12. Here comes a light to light you to bed

Phryne left the station a few minutes after they were done with Mr Beauford. Despite her quipping she did actually have an appointment for dinner. Not that she expected to actually eat dinner and if pressed she would point out that Mac through her work as coroner counted as member of the constabulary and therefore was not a social commitment, but it was an appointment she would hate to miss none the less.  
Her friend was already waiting in the parlour when she arrived, nursing a glass of what looked suspiciously like her good whiskey.  
"It’s really not acceptable that you start without me." Phryne chided teasingly.  
Mac merely took a provocative draught from her glass.  
"If I’m to listen to you fawn over Jack Robinson for any longer period of time, I’m gonna need all the fortification I can get." she pointed out.  
Phryne gave her friend a look as she took her own drink from Mr Butler, who had, of course, appeared just in time.  
"I do not fawn. Over anyone." she stated emphatically.  
Mac raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Right."  
"I don’t!" Miss Fisher defended herself. "And even if I would, which I don’t, right now I‘m much more in the mood to rail than fawn."  
She took a deep sip of her drink, rejoicing in having found the invariably omniscient Mr Butler. A sidecar was just what she needed to sooth the frustration that had been bubbling inside her since lunch. Mac watched her over the rim of her own glass.  
"What’s he done?"  
Phryne shook her head. "It’s not what he’s done, it’s what’s being done to him." she said.  
"We have considered the option of him moving in here." she explained.  
Mac tilted her head quizzically. "We?"  
Her friend rolled her eyes at her. "I suggested, after he put Wardlow as calling address on his personnel file. He pointed out certain obstacles, propriety, moral obligations, blah blah blah. We considered it."  
"Aha."  
Mac still sounded unimpressed, which was about as far from the truth as was humanly possible. The casual way in which Phryne had just all but admitted to wanting to share her life with a man would have shocked her to the core if she hadn’t been around to see her with Jack since her return from England. Phryne Fisher, the woman who didn’t do commitment, offering a man a place in her house, and by all accounts being turned down. Mac inwardly shook her head. That she got to live to see the day.  
"I can’t believe he didn’t jump at the chance." she noted. "That man is crazy about you."  
"He is also infuriatingly honourable at times." Phryne pointed out, trying not to think too much about the giddy feeling that rose in her chest at Macs words. She knew that Jack adored her, but somehow have someone else tell her that it was obvious made her unaccountably happy.  
"He did want to. It only would have taken a light notch."  
"But?" Mac prompted, sensing that wasn’t the end of it.  
"But now the Chief Commissioner has gotten wind of it and has threatened to sack him if he dares to do something as immoral as moving to live with a woman he is not married to." Phryne drowned the rest of her drink with a frustrated huff.  
Mac shook her head. She had made her own experiences with CC Wolfe when she had taken the job as medical examiner. The man was a coward in her book, a stickler for rules he didn’t himself believe in, which made his behaviour even more despicable.  
"I’m sorry, darling." she said, absolutely serious for a change.  
"It’s ridiculously unfair." Miss Fisher railed. "What business is it of Wolfe’s, or anybodies for that matter, how or with whom Jack spends his time off duty. And why is there a difference if we live together as we are or after having signed a piece of paper." she talked herself into a rage now.  
"So at the end of the day, I’m being punished if we get married and he is if we don’t. How is that moral or appropriate?" Phryne sacked back into her chair, her anger spent. "I can’t allow him to put his career at risk for my sake."  
"But you want him in your life." Mac stated matter-of-factly.  
Unfortunately she was all too familiar with the problem and she had yet to come up with a satisfying solution. Homosexuality among women wasn’t a criminal offence, but neither was dismissal because of it, not to speak of social ostracism for ‘depraved and ungodly behaviour‘.  
Phryne nodded sullenly.  
“What am I going to do, Mr Butler?” she asked with an overly dramatic sigh to the man who had just appeared to top up her drink.  
“Miss might consider an engagement.” he suggested, in the same tone he would have used to recommend a specific wine for dinner.  
Phryne nearly dropped her glass.  
“What?”  
She was interrupted, before she could nail her servant to the floor and demand an explanation, by Mac’s hollering laughter. Mr B used the opportunity to disappear back to the kitchen.  
“Oh, he is good.” Mac gasped.  
Her friend gave her a look that could have frozen a volcano.  
“Would you care to explain exactly how this is funny?” she demanded.  
The Doctor gave her a sly look.  
“Because it’s the last thing you would have thought of, and it might actually work.”  
Phryne’s eyes remained tight and cold. “You’re right, it’s the last thing I would have thought about and the last thing I would have thought Mr Butler would suggest.”  
Mac still looked uncannily amused.  
“You should consider it, though.” she recommended.  
“You know my stand on marriage, Mac.”  
The doctor’s eyes had a strange mischievous glint in them, Phryne hadn’t seen there in a while.  
“But he didn’t say marriage now, did he?”  
Phryne frowned. “Engagement, marriage, what’s the difference?” she waved her hands impatiently.  
This whole conversation was making her increasingly uncomfortable. Mac just gave her a pitying look.  
“There’s a big difference and you know it. He didn’t suggest you set a date and get a licence, Phryne. He suggested you put an announcement in The Argus and throw a big party.”  
Phryne’s frown grew impossibly deeper. Mac couldn’t help thinking that she and Jack became more and more similar every day.  
“And then?”  
The doctor shrugged. “And then Jack’s superiors won’t have any grounds for objecting the two of you living together anymore. Neither will your aunt for that matter.”  
“But they will expect us to get married eventually.” Phryne pointed out.  
Her friend made a dismissive gesture.  
“Of course, but it will take a year or two before anyone will get suspicious. And we both know a lot can happen in a year. Besides, even if you two decide to have the longest engagement in history, there isn’t a thing they can do about it. Unless you get pregnant of course.”  
“Oh god!”  
Mac shrugged again. “Just saying. It could happen. Contraception isn’t infallible.”  
Phryne decided to ignore her friends last comment and let the idea run through her head again. Mac was of course right. An engagement was different from a marriage, legally if nothing else. It was a mere social convention that could easily be called off and didn’t involve any actual obligations or ties beyond the ones she had already agreed to, explicitly or implicitly. It could work, but…  
“Jack’s never going to agree to a faux engagement.”  
Mac rolled her eyes. “Not if you put it like that he won’t.” she agreed.  
“Well, what do you propose?”  
“An engagement of indefinite length?” Mac suggested.

 

Jack had debated with himself whether to go to Wardlow after he had finally finished his shift. The paperwork on this day’s interviews had taken longer than he had anticipated. He knew Phryne had met with Mac in the early evening and the two friends had most likely gone out, so there might not be much point to him showing up there. But the things she had told him the other night had stuck with him. That she hated having to ask him to come over rather than being able to just assume he would. That she’d prefer him to actually live there instead of only almost. When she had suggest his moving in it had taken all of him not to kiss her senseless with joy, despite his concerns, just because she had asked. But it wouldn’t do to get either of their hopes up when the reality of their situation wouldn’t allow it. His own argument had anticipated the Commissioner’s, even if he hadn’t expected to have to defend himself to Wolfe for a decision he hadn’t even made yet. His other reasons for worrying this might be a step to huge for them, they hadn’t even talked about. To be fair they were mostly his own concerns and there wasn’t much she could do about them. But propriety was an issue. She had looked so crestfallen when he had told her of the Commissioner’s objections. Crestfallen and furious. After his conversation with Wolfe his last doubts had dissipated. That night alone in his own bed he had decided that he wanted this life with her and to live with her, no matter what anyone thought. Not that it matter what he wanted as usual. She had made it clear she wouldn’t risk his career for which he was theoretically grateful, but he was still hoping she would find a solution. So he had decided that it didn’t matter if she wasn’t home, he would be there when she came back, at least pretending he did actually live here with her.

To his surprise, when he entered the hall, using his own key she had given him rather early on in their courtship, he could hear voices from the parlour. Laughter, the clinking of glasses. Jack carefully peaked into the parlour.  
"Jack!" she sounded delighted to see him, and possibly a little tipsy.  
"I thought you’d be out already." he said with a nod to Mac while Phryne dragged him into the room.  
"I think we changed our mind after the third drink." the doctor informed him.  
"I see."  
As if on cue Mr Butler appeared with a third glass, filled with whiskey.  
"Good evening Inspector." he greeted gently and returned to his previous state of thin air before Jack could even thank him.  
Miss Fisher seemed to have gotten over her initial surprise and delight of seeing him and her detective brain slowly sprung into action.  
"If you thought we were out, why did you come here?" she asked curiously.  
Jack took a sip of his drink.  
"I was led to believe that I was welcome to consider this place a home, Miss Fisher. Do I need a reason to return home after a day at work?"  
Her smile was blinding. "Never, Jack."  
He returned her smile with a small one of his own.  
"I hope I’m not interrupting anything." he said remembering Mac was still in the room.  
"I think we have thoroughly exhausted the topic of Jack Robinson at this point." the Doctor assured him sardonically.  
"My apologies. I can imagine more fascinating talking points." he deadpanned.  
It was the only possible reaction not to react, torn as he was between being thrilled that _she_ talked about him and embarrassed that _they_ talked about him.  
"We were actually talking about the case." Phryne informed him happily. "Mac is still mystified by the cause of death."  
She threw her friend a puckish glance that informed her that this was her well deserved payback for accusing her of fawning over Jack. Mac took it with a roll of her eyes.  
"I’ve consulted with a few colleagues as well as pretty much any book I could think of. No one seems to have seen anything like it before." she admitted.  
Jack took his usual place by the mantle.  
"Anything we can rule out?" he asked trying to unfurl the matter form the other side.  
"Everything" Mac exclaimed "that’s the problem. Not only don’t I have the faintest idea what could have caused the injuries, everything I can come up with I can disregard almost instantly." she tried calming herself with a good draught of her whiskey.  
"I’m sorry Jack, but I haven’t got anything new."  
"Well, we know where and when he died. That’ll have to do." he consoled her.

There was a light tap on the parlour door before Mr Butler put his head through.  
"Excuse me, Sir." he said "The station just called. Apparently there’s been another murder. At the Tomlinson Mansion."  
The two Detectives exchanged a look.  
"I thought no one lived there anymore now." Jack muttered.  
Mac groaned as she scrambled to her feet.  
"I hope you brought your car, Jack." she said. "We both had way too much to drink to drive."  
"I’m perfectly fine." Phryne protested.  
Mac raised an eyebrow and cleaned the edges of her mouth from smeared lipstick.  
"You may be." she conceded. "But my stomach is not."  
She gave Jack a pat on the shoulder as she headed for the parlour doors. "Let’s go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about Mac’s situation: I don’t know what the legal status of lesbians was in 1920s Australia. Unsurprisingly the information in the usual places is rather thin on that topic. I’m merely assuming it wasn’t illegal based on the knowledge that it wasn’t nost of the time. While sodomy for men was a criminal offence since the middle ages, female homosexuality for a long, long time didn’t even exist as a concept (after all the idea that a woman could get pleasure without the help of a man was utterly ridiculous *sarcasm mode off*). Another reason there isn’t much information on that topic historically. I know that in England lesbianism wasn’t illegal for the major part of the modern period, but I don’t know for certain if they ever outlawed it, so I optimistically went with no. 
> 
> On the engagement ploy: I have no idea if that would actually have worked, but as far as fig leaves go, I imagine it would at least create enough goodwill for Jack to be able to keep his job, especially if the boss doesn't actually want to let him go. And I always had the impression that Rosie was living with Fletcher and that was ok, so what's good enough for cannon...


	13. Maids in white approns

The three of them arrived at the Tomlinson Mansion about thirty minutes later, not without Phryne complaining about Jack driving like her Aunt Prudence. She had sobered up rather quickly at the prospect of a murder and was now regretting not having taken the Hispano by herself.  
"A milk cart could have overtaken you, darling." she said, just as they were pulling up to the house.  
"Only if the milk cart had gone above the speed limit." Jack replied dryly. "And your aunt doesn’t drive. I have had several chances to interview her chauffeur in the past."  
Still bickering the two detectives entered the mansion, followed by an exasperated Mac who was all but giving herself muscle cramps from how much she was rolling her eyes.

They were greeted by a visibly tired Constable Collins and his wife in the hallway. Jack decided not to comment on Dots present tonight. What would he say anyways, arriving with his own partner, not only in tow, but having actively driven her here.  
"What happened, Collins?" he asked instead.  
"It’s the housekeeper, Sir. Mrs Beauford found her in the study." Hugh reported. "She was over with her husband to meet with Mr Tomlinson’s solicitor, when she found Mrs Grafton. Her scream alerted the rest of the household."  
Jack and Phryne entered the study together. The Inspector had asked Dr Mac to give them a moment to take in the crime scene before she examined the body. Mac had merely shrugged.  
"The advantage of the dead is that there’s no rush, Inspector." she said.  
In the meantime she occupied herself with the hunt for a cup of coffee.

The study was of a middling size, with a large window and several shelves covering the remaining walls. There were two desks, all of them covered in paperwork. The place reminded Phryne vaguely of Gerald McNaster’s study, if only for the cluttering. Apparently Mr Tomlinson hadn’t bothered with order much. Next to her Jack tsked disapprovingly.  
"I’ll need to have a word with the constable who retrieved the paperwork on Tomlinson’s finances." he muttered, mostly to himself.  
Phryne’s eyebrows shot up. "When did you search this room?" she asked.  
Jack shrugged. "The afternoon of the murder." he replied absentmindedly.  
"And you didn’t tell me?"  
He raised his eyes from the general chaos to look at her.  
"You went off to meet Mrs Lin. Did you really think I wouldn’t search Tomlinson’s office after we arrested Madden for snooping around in here? And before you complain" he intercepted any comment she was about to make "we didn’t find anything interesting, other than his bookkeeping, so there wasn’t much to tell. But it definitely looked a lot more organised than it does now."  
Phryne harrumphed, but didn’t say anything. Though she would never tell him that, he was right. Of course he had the office searched, methodical as he was, while she hadn’t even thought about that in all the hustle with illegitimate daughters, a mysterious cause of death, blackmail, embezzling priests and secretive communists. She tried not to think about that ridiculous oversight on her part and turned her attention to the dead woman on the floor instead.

Mrs Grafton, Mark Tomlinson’s late Housekeeper, was lying on her back next to the desk nearest to the door in a slowly drying puddle of her own blood. Her hands lay loosely on her chest, near her throat, both covered in blood. Her eyes were torn wide open.  
"She was stabbed in the throat, Jack." Miss Fisher observed. "Look at that."  
She pointed at the small thin object lying next to the victims head, also covered in blood. The Inspector crouched down next to her to take a look.  
“A fountain pen?" he raised an eyebrow and turned his eyes back to the small round wound between the Housekeeper’s collar bones. "Well, that’s certainly new.”  
"Speaking about spur of the moment." Miss Fisher commented. "Whoever did this clearly just grabbed the first thing they could find."  
Jack carefully examined the fountain pen before he put it in an evidence bag.  
"Doesn’t look like we’ll be lucky with fingerprints." he noted.  
He turned to Hugh standing a little off so the Detectives had free reign over the crime scene.  
"Who was in the house this evening?" he asked.  
Constable Collins assiduously flicked through his notes before he reported:  
"Mr and Mrs Beauford, Mr Gregson, he is Mr Tomlinson’s executor, and Mr Madden. Of the staff: the butler, the cook, the head gardener, two maids and a footman."  
"I need you to interview every one of them as to where they have been the last tow hours and I want to talk to those who don’t have a good answer in addition to Mrs Beauford, Mr Gregson and the Butler." Jack ordered.  
"I wonder what Mr Madden was doing here." Miss Fisher mused, after Hugh had scattered off to fulfil his orders. "Seems like awfully bad timing."  
"Timing really isn’t his strength." Jack agreed.

For the first time Laura Beauford seemed genuinely shaken. She was pale, her breathing laboured and she was clutching her husbands hand so tightly his fingers started to turn purple.  
"We were here to go through the details of the will and get an idea what we were getting into." she explained.  
Despite her obvious agitation her voice was full and didn’t shake.  
"We were taking a break, David had just arrived. We were thinking about getting tea or coffee. I went to powder my nose and on my way back I went to the study to get a document we had been talking about. And there I found her."  
Her husband had his arm wrapped around her and soothingly stroked her shoulder. He rocked her lightly and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head. Phryne noted the obvious and undeniable intimacy between them, despite everything she had learned about them in the last days. That relationship really did get more and more confusing by them minute.  
"We came here about an hour after I left the police station." Mr Beauford explained. "Mr Gregson called yesterday to inform us about the will and asked for an appointment so we could go over the details. We’d been working for hours and took David’s appearance as a reason to take a break."  
"When was that?" Jack asked, never raising his eyes from his notebook.  
"He was late: round about eight." Alec replied.  
"So until then you, your wife and Mr Gregson were together all the time?"  
"Yes, we were all in the library going over business papers. I don’t think anyone had left the room for hours."  
"But you left when Mr Madden arrived?" Jack continued.  
Alec nodded. "Yes, Laura went to freshen up, like she said and I went out looking for a servant to get us something to eat and drink."  
"Did you find anyone?"  
"Unfortunately not. I’m not overly familiar with the house and I got a bit lost. I didn’t see anyone. At least not until I heard my wife scream."  
"What about Madden and Gregson?" Phryne intervened.  
Mr Beauford looked up to her. "I’m not sure. I think they had something to discuss. They were still in the library when I left."  
"Why was David Madden even here?" Phryne continued her interrogation. "He didn’t inherit Mark Tomlinson’s fortune."  
Mrs Beauford answered this time. "We asked him here. I wanted to get this mess sorted out with his debt to Mark. I heard about it of course, when you took him with you that day." she hesitated for a moment.  
"I wanted to get a better impression of that situation. How much he owed, how likely he was to pay it back." she explained. "He was supposed to be here for tea, but he called that he couldn’t make it before seven."

Once they were done with the Beaufords the detectives turned to Mr Madden. It had turned out he didn’t have an alibi either, since the solicitor had excused himself after a short consultation to the powder room as well.  
"What was that consultation about Mr Madden?" Jack asked.  
The other man shrugged nonchalantly. He seemed to have found his equilibrium again after his arrest the last time.  
"Just a bit of legal advice. You know my financial situation Inspector. I wanted to know if there was a way to avoid my debts being inherited. Seems it’s not looking very well though."  
He made a face.  
"Why did you arrive so late, Mr Madden?" Phryne asked. "You were expected for tea, weren‘t you?"  
"I was" he agreed "but my previous meeting ran over so I called to say I’d be late."  
"You said you’d be there by seven, yet you didn’t arrive until eight o’clock." she pointed out.  
Madden nodded. "I did leave on time, but then there was an accident on St Kilda road, at the construction sight. Some crates of rock fell over and the tram couldn’t get through. And then I couldn’t find a cab for ages to get to the house, so everything took longer than expected. But I did find one eventually so you can ask the Cabbie when I arrived and where he picked me up." he added quickly.  
"We will Mr Madden." the Inspector assured him.  
"Who let you in the house?"  
"The Butler. Told him I was expected and he led me straight to the library. And there I stayed until Laura started screaming her lungs out."  
He shook his head. "Poor old girl. Never thought her the type for hysterics. She’s usually cool as a cucumber. Not to say cold as a dead fish." he shrugged. "Never really understood what Mark saw in her. Or Alec for that matter."  
"Did you know Mrs Grafton at all Mr Madden?" Jack steered the conversation back to the topic at hand.  
"Not really. I’ve seen her when I visited Mark, but I don’t think I ever spoke to her."  
Jack nodded and closed his notebook.  
"Thank you Mr Madden, that’ll be all."

Mr Gregson was next on their list. His interview was short and rather uncomplicated. He had been Tomlinson’s solicitor for several years was entrusted with the will, as well as his companies legal dealings, which was why he had several copies of all the records the police had seized. Recently there hadn’t been any legal problems in the company and he hadn’t seen Tomlinson in weeks before his death. To the detectives surprise Gregson informed them that the bequest to Ava Beauford was not in fact a recent development, but had actually been in place for several years. He confirmed that he and the Beaufords had been in the library for several hours before Madden had arrived and that neither of them had left the room before. He also confirmed Madden’s story about asking for legal advice even though he refused to go into detail. Jack didn’t press him.  
"And then you left Mr Madden alone?"  
The solicitor nodded. "Yes, I thought I’d make use of the break."  
"Did you encounter Mrs Beauford on your way to the bathroom?" Phryne asked lightly.  
Gregson shot her a slightly disapproving look, but answered the question.  
"I didn’t." he admitted. "Maybe she found a different bathroom. I believe she is more familiar with the premises than I am."  
"When did you hear the scream?" Jack inquired.  
"I was just on my way back to the library."  
"Did you know Mrs Grafton?"  
Mr Gregson nodded carefully. "I knew off her. She was a witness on the will." he informed them.  
"But you never had any personal contact with her?"  
"None at all."

By the time they were done with the house guests Hugh informed them that Dr Mac had concluded her preliminary examination and had left in a cab.  
“She said, cause of death as obvious and time of death not more than two hours ago.” he reported.  
As for himself, he had finished with the servant interviews. Apparently they had spent the evening in the kitchen together, after being done with their duty. Mr Sixsmith, the Butler and Mrs Grafton had been with them, but had left when Mr Madden arrived, the one to open the door, the other to ask if anything was needed in the library. None of the staff could explain or even imagine how she had ended up in the study. One of the maids had pointed out that it was odd for Mrs Grafton to go to see to the Ladies and Gentlemen herself when she could have send one of the maids or Mr Sixsmith, but hadn’t thought about it at the time.

Giles Sixsmith, the Butler was a tall, broadchested, elderly man, with a gigantic nose and rather impressive eyebrows. He was holding himself together as best he could, but he was visibly shaken by the murder of his colleague.  
"Poor Ellie." he muttered. "Who would do such a thing?"  
"We were hoping you could tell us." Miss Fisher said gently.  
He looked at her with genuine surprise.  
"Me?"  
"You probably knew her better than anyone in this house, didn’t you? You worked together, how long?" she instigated.  
"Oh, that must be 25 years, if not more. I still knew her late husband. Fell in the war, poor soul. He should have never signed up at his age. He was the old Mr Tomlinson’s Valet. Good man. Poor Ellie, never got over it, I think."  
Phryne nodded sympathetically.  
"Do you know if there was anyone who would want to harm her." she said still in that gentle, apologetic voice.  
Sixsmith shook his head. "She was a good woman, hard working. But we have had a few servants in over the years who didn’t appreciate a good work ethic. Young people can be rather slothful these days. There were skirmishes sometimes, when we had to let them go. We had one a few years ago, a maid with very unsavoury ideas about her future and Mr Tomlinson’s." he sounded extremely disapproving.  
"We couldn’t possibly write her a reference with her behaviour. Nothing one should mention in front of a Lady." he indicated.  
Jack made very sure his face didn’t betray anything, even if he was internally shaking with laughter. He was still very much convinced that Phryne was still the less shockable one of the two of them when it came to intimate relations, even though he had been an eager student over the last months.  
"Anyone more recently?" he asked.  
"I can’t think of anyone. Maybe at the Bridge club. She would occasionally come back rather agitated, but I didn’t think it was more than a bit of bickering."  
Jack nodded. "Thank you, Mr Sixsmith. If you could give the name of that girl and the Bridge club to Constable Collins and confirm your whereabouts after you left Mr Madden in the library." he said.  
It was well past midnight by the time they got back to Warldow. Jack had decided to leave the paperwork for the next day. Phrnye had not asked, if he wanted to come or go back to his own place, but simply drove home. He didn’t ask if it was on purpose or if she simply didn’t think about it. Instead he quietly followed her into the house and into bed where she snuggled onto him as soon as he crept under the thin blanket.


	14. Kettles and Pans

"Collins!" Jack yelled over his shoulder as he marched into his office the next morning.  
"You interviewed Mrs Grafton, didn’t you? Bring your reports and your notes. I want to know exactly what she told you."  
His Senior Constable stumbled after him, notebook and manila folder in hand.  
"You think the two murder’s are related, Sir?" he asked and would have liked to slap himself the moment the words left his mouth. Obviously that was what the Inspector thought otherwise he wouldn’t have asked for his reports on the interviews. He berated himself that he really deserved the look he got from his superior.  
"It seems like an odd coincidence, don’t you think Collins?" Jack said dryly.  
Hugh nodded "And you don’t believe in coincidences Sir." he added.  
"You’ll find they are exceedingly rare in our line of work." Jack pointed out.  
"So what have you got?" He held his hand out for the report, which Hugh handed to him while he scrambled through his notes.  
"I interviewed her about Mr Tomlinson, the staff roster, and about the guest’s alibis, as you asked Sir. She’d been working for the Tomlinson family for 35 years, first as a maid and then she became the housekeeper fifteen years ago after her predecessor had to retire due to her health. Her husband was a Rodger Grafton, valet to the previous Mr Tomlinson, but he never came back from the war. She said, she didn’t have a problem with the current Mr Tomlinson, but I remember she was a bit tight lipped when it came to his guests."  
"Anyone in particular, Collins?" The Inspector asked immediately.  
"I don’t recall Sir. She seemed to disapprove of the lot of them, I think."  
Hugh swallowed a little harder than normal. He still didn’t like not having the answer his superior asked of him, even if it could hardly be expected of him to remember every detail of a routine interview almost a week ago.  
Jack only nodded. He hadn’t really expected Hugh to remember, but it had seemed worth asking just in case he did.  
"Well, we’re gonna need to find that dismissed maid and one or two members of that bridge club. See what you can find out, Collins. Leave me that file, please."  
Once again Jack was glad Hugh was diligent in his reports. Contrary to popular opinion Jack wasn’t fundamentally averse to paperwork. There was a certain art to it that he appreciated and even more than that, he was only too aware how much you could come to rely on your own reports when it came to trials and all too often on other people’s, when investigations overlapped. There was nothing worse than a sloppy report, when you just needed that one bit of information, so Jack made sure his own paperwork was impeccable and trained all his Constables to do the same. In the case of Hugh Collins the effort was definitely paying off. He looked approvingly at Hugh’s neat handwriting where he hadn’t gotten around to typing it out yet.  
Unfortunately there was not much more in the report than what the Constable had already told him. Mrs Grafton had not seen anything, heard anything or said anything about Mark Tomlinson’s murder. Jack frowned. There was decidedly too much nothing in that report. He couldn’t blame Collins, he was still young and although he had come heaps and bounds in the last year he was still a little gullible and naive. Jack cursed under his breath. He should have checked the report then, instead of taking Collins word at face value. Damn. Now it was too late to figure out what exactly the woman had been hiding. Jack cursed again and then let it go. No use crying over spilt milk, the only thing he could do now, was to make sure this didn’t get repeated. So he collected the reports of Hugh’s other interviews and went through them, just to be sure. Then he started his own reports on the events of last night while he waited for Hugh to bring in the other witnesses.

 

When Phryne came down to the kitchen that morning it was already buzzing with activity. Bert and Cec had arrived, and between munching on breakfast and slurping tea they were apparently trying to explain the difference between socialism and communism to Dot.  
"Good Morning!" Phryne interrupted the debate, deciding that it was much too early for that kind of conversation.  
"I hope this means you found something." she said, reaching for a piece of toast. "I can’t say I expected the investigation to take quite so long."  
"We were here last night" Bert said defensively. "It’s not our fault everybody was out."  
"There was another murder, Bert." she informed him. "But I suppose that is fair enough. What have you got."  
"Not much news, Miss." Bert admitted. "We spend all day yesterday tryna find something for ya, but it’s as we said: He was a good commo, fighting for the workers rights at Lin’s and at the docks and then he went to work for Tomlinson he went soft with a couple a‘ weeks."  
"Yeah, some of the blokes there were real disappointed, too" Cec added. "They was hoping ’e’d help them get better conditions there, like ’e did for the chinks."  
Phryne frowned.  
"Camellia said Lin was glad to be rid of him, and he did have a rather extensive police file." she mused "If he was known to be trouble, how did he get the job at the plant in the first place?"  
"Rumour has it he converted one of the foremen to the cause." Bert supplied.  
"’e’s good with people like that." Cec agreed.  
"He’s a talker, alright." Bert conceded. "So he got himself hired without the boss knowing. Seems he was starting to get something organised, too. But then that Tomlinson bloke found out and suddenly he calls the whole thing off. Bob was right mad."  
"That’s the foreman." Cec added helpfully.  
Miss Fisher nodded. "That further supports the theory that Tomlinson was somehow blackmailing him into submission. I think at this stage we can take that as a fact. But we still don’t know how. Anything you found out about what he does when he is not fighting the good fight? Pub, footie, friends, anything?" she asked.  
Cec shrugged. "‚e wasn’t much one for footy, Miss." he said apologetically.  
"Kept saying it was the system trying to keep the workers complacent." Bert agreed grumpily. "Bread an‘ circuses, he called it. Only there isn’t much bread these days, is there."  
Phryne sighed. "Well, he does have a point." she said primly.  
"Oh yeah?" Bert immediately jumped to defend his second favourite past time. "Well, I think he’s full of it. Or why else did I see him at the game when we played Carlton last week."  
Miss Fisher’s eyes lit up. "You did?"  
"That’s right." the cabbie stated defiantly. "During halftime. He was buying munchies from the pie cart."  
"Now that is interesting information." Phryne now looked like the cat that got the cream and knew where she could get more.

After breakfast Miss Fisher returned to the Tomlinson Mansion. There were still a few angles she wanted to pursue relating to people’s alibis. She left the Hispano at home, instead had the cabbies drive her and Dot, so she could continue to interrogate them about their investigation on Feng. Unfortunately they had been right and there really didn’t seem to be much more to uncover.  
At the house she told them to wait while she rang the door bell. Giles Sixsmith looked almost as dishevelled when he opened as he had the day of Mark Tomlinson’s death, when she had first seen him. He clearly hadn’t slept much and had had trouble shaving, judging from the state of his chin.  
"Miss Fisher." he said surprised. "Did you forget anything?"  
"Not exactly Mr Sixsmith." she put on one of her most charming smile. "I wanted to check up on a few things I didn’t have time for last night. I suppose the police have left?"  
Before he could answer she had swept past him into the house.  
"They have indeed only this morning Miss." he confirmed with an inaudible sigh, closing the door behind her.  
"How lovely, then would you mind showing me the library?"  
From the library, in which she couldn’t find anything interesting, she let the Butler show her the way to the next bathroom.  
"This would have been the one Mr Gregson used, yesterday, I presume?" she asked innocently.  
"I would think so." Sixsmith agreed warily. "It’s the only one on this floor, apart from the en suit ones in the guest wing."  
"Indeed?" Phryne smiled satisfied. "How very interesting. And Mr Tomlinson’s study is...?"  
"That way Miss."

 

"You can’t just barge in there and demand tea." Dot complained.  
Bert gave her a blank look as he held the kitchen door open for her.  
"Why not?" he asked. "We do that at Miss Fisher’s all the time."  
"But this isn’t Miss Fisher’s." Dot insisted. "This is a house in mourning, with no master."  
"Doesn’t mean we let honest folk go thirsty." a friendly voice interrupted their arguing.  
A small middle aged woman with round cheeks, black curls and glittering brown eyes smiled at them.  
"Only means we got plenty of time on our hands, cuz there’s no one left to work for." she waved them in. "I was gonna make a cuppa for meself anyways, I don’t mind the company."  
"Ha!" Bert gave Dot a triumphant look.  
She just glared back.  
"That’s very kind of you Mrs...?" Dot said politely.  
"Clint, I’m the cook. But do call me Mary. That’s what everyone ’round ‘ere does. Now take a seat, dear, you shouldn’t be on your feet too much anyways in your condition."  
"Thank you." Dot repeated and gratefully took a seat next to Cec.  
She wasn’t so far along that she got tired after a few steps, as she had heard would be the case in the last months, but it did always feel good to sit down.  
"I’m Dorothy," she introduced herself. "and these are Bert and Cec. And we’re so sorry for your losses."  
Mary shrugged. "Shame it is." she agreed. "He was a good master, most the time. And now poor El. Shame." she said again.  
Dot nodded. "It must be awful with everything hanging in the air like that." she said. "There is no new master, is there?"  
Mrs Clint shook her head as she poured the tea.  
"I’ll be honest with ya, we’ve all been a bit antsy about it. The girls they’ve already been searching for new work. They’ll be alright though. It’s us old folk who worry. It ain’t no good time to be looking for work. Now them girls they can do anything, if service don’t work out, they can go into the factories or work in shops. Me and Giles though, we’re too old to learn new tricks. El of course would’a been right as rain."  
"Mrs Grafton had a money?" Dot didn’t hide her surprise.  
Mary Clint wiggled her head. "I don’t know of no money, but El wasn’t worried much, that’s true. Strange, now that I think about it." she admitted.  
"Maybe she had savings." Bert suggested in between bites of biscuits that had miraculously appeared on the table.  
Mary shook her head. "She was always complaining about how poor Rodger’s headstone ate up all they had saved. ‘A crying outrage it is‘ she used to say ‚and ‘e’s not even lying in that grave‘. After all it wasn’t like she had the kind of money to have his body transferred." she tuted sympathetically.  
Then she shook her head as if to shake off the dark thoughts.  
"Nah, I reckon she knew a bit more then the likes of me ‘bout what’s to happen. El always liked knowing what’s what. Made her a good housekeeper that."  
"Made her a good slave herder that." said a girl coming into the kitchen.  
She was about as old as Dot, wearing a maids uniform.  
"Sas! That is no way to talk." the cook chided her sharply.  
The girl defiantly raised her chin.  
"I’m not gonna pretend she was a saint, just because she’s dead." she said. "You know one of the coppers yesterday said she was murdered. Stabbed in the heart. I bet that’s what she got from being so damn nosy."  
"I will not have you speak like that about the poor woman in my kitchen."  
Mary shuddered with righteous anger. By now the second maid had come in. She was a pretty girl with warm eyes and she gently took the cooks hand.  
"Don’t mind her Mary." she said with a cheeky smile. "She’s just cross, because Mrs G found the letters from her young man."  
"She went through my stuff. She had no right!" Sas exclaimed indignantly, turning a rather dark shade of crimson.  
"Well, you could’ve hidden them better." the other maid teased.  
"Ugh!" Sas pushed her chair back and stomped out of the kitchen. Mrs Clint looked after her shaking her head.  
"No manner’s that girl. Did she complain much about the work this morning, Bell?"  
The other maid shrugged. "No more than usual. It seems a bit pointless cleaning out the chimneys while it’s still summer, though."  
"It still needs to be done." Mary declared. "Mrs Grafton would never allow anyone to slack around here, no matter how dire the circumstances."  
She took her seat again and put her smile back in place as brightly as ever when she turned back to Dot.  
"Let’s not dwell on those things." she said and measured Dot from head to toe. "So when’s the happy day?"

They chatted amicably for a bit longer, before the Cabbies finished their tea and headed back to the car. Dot thanked Mrs Clint profoundly for the tea and made to go herself. Bell accompanied her to the cab.  
"Poor Mary." she said. "She adored the old dragon. They’d been friends for ages."  
"Dragon, slave herder, this all doesn’t sound like she was very nice." Dot noted.  
Bell shrugged. "She was a tough one at times. But you mustn’t take Sas all that serious. We all knew Mrs G liked to snoop, so if we had a secret we were smart enough no to leave it in our rooms. Sas was just sloppy, that’s why she got caught." she grinned.  
Dot felt rather uncomfortable at the thought of a superior going through everybody’s things and everyone being fine with that. She still felt awful every time Miss Phryne searched someone’s private rooms without their knowledge and that was usually to solve a murder.  
"Why would she need to go through people’s things?" she asked tentatively.  
Bell shrugged. "I think she liked to think she was smarter than us and she liked holding it over our heads whenever she found something." she said dismissively.  
Clearly Mrs Grafton never had found anything on her.

Miss Fisher was already waiting by the car.  
"Hurry along Dot." she yelled. "We have an appointment with Doctor Mac."  
Dot hurriedly said good-bye to Bell, infinitely glad, yet again, that Miss Fisher had found her when she had.  
"So was your fraternizing a success?" Phryne asked as soon as every one was safely stored in the cab.  
"Seems your dead housekeeper didn’t have no money to spare, but liked to snoop around her employee’s personal maters." Bert ground out.  
Dot nodded at Miss Fishers inquiring look.  
"It would seem so, Miss. Bell, the maid said everybody knew she was always going through people’s things. She said, she like holding it over people’s heads when she found something." She made a face.  
"Sounds charming." Phryne commented dryly.  
Bert huffed. "Yeah, can’t think why anyone would kill that one." he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should have done that sooner, but I do appologise for my poor attempts at writing an Australian accent. I don't really know what I'm doing. I hope it's not too offensive.
> 
> I'm also simply assuming that there were different footy pits and parallel games, since they had quite a few teams in the greater Melbourne area in the 1920s already. And if there were different pits there were probably a few vendors selling food and drink to the audience because that's just how human beings are.


	15. Pokers and Tongs

"I’ve often wondered that not more people get murdered with these." Doctor Macmillan informed her audience while she inspected an elegant and not inexpensive fountain pen, highly suspect of being the murder weapon.  
“There really quite handy for it. This particular model is rather sharp and the murderer clearly knew what they were doing.” she continued. “Went straight through the windpipe and out again. She choked on her own blood, poor woman."  
"How long would it have taken her to die?" Jack asked. "She was still warm when Mrs Beauford found her."  
"A few minutes maybe." Mac speculated. "She wouldn’t have been dead instantly but it wouldn’t have taken long either."  
Jack nodded.  
"Time of death?" he asked.  
"Around eight, I’d say" she reported. "She was barely cold when we arrived."  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "She was only found a few minutes after eight." he pointed out.  
Mac shrugged. "She was certainly not dead longer than an hour and a half before I saw her." she declared.  
"Makes sense." Phryne inserted herself into the conversation.  
She had so far been busy examining the victim’s belongings. Unfortunately there wasn’t a lot there other than her clothes, worn but good quality, keys and a wedding ring.  
"She was killed when the people in the library took a break."  
Jack had to agree. "That would point to one of the guests." he said. "The staff could have killed her anytime they wanted."  
"Unless of course, they wanted to pin the blame on someone from upstairs." Miss Fisher pointed out.  
"Yes, but that would suggest premeditation and I can’t imagine anyone would plan to murder someone with a pen. No matter" he added with a look at Mac "how handy you might find them, Doctor."  
She shrugged unimpressed. "That is your field of expertise, Inspector. I’m merely pointing out the obvious."  
"I’ll keep you on my list of suspects the next time someone get’s murdered with stationary." he said, tilting his head slightly and pulling the corners of his mouth down to a small smirk. "For this case you fortunately have a rather solid alibi."  
"Lucky me. Seems spending time with the two of you is good for something after all." Mac grinned.  
"Anything else you can tell us about our victim?" Jack returned to the case.  
"Not much I’m afraid. She was healthy and it doesn’t look like she put up a fight. I’m still waiting for the results on the stomach content, but I would say her last meal was a few hours before her death, probably tea or early dinner."  
"Would there have been splashing when the pen was removed?" Phryne asked.  
Mac thought for a moment.  
"Probably, yes. But not much if the murderer was careful. Also the angel makes it rather difficult to determine where they stood. She could have been stabbed from behind." she explained . "Like this."  
Mac stepped behind Phryne, looping her arm around her friend’s neck acting out stabbing her in the throat.  
"But from in front, like this, is also possible."  
She stepped around Phryne and raised her arm to stab her in the same spot again.  
"The only thing we can definitely say, is that the murderer would have had a similar height as the victim."  
"Would it have taken much strength?" Jack inquired.  
Mac shook her head. "Like I said the pen is rather sharp and it was placed at a very vulnerable spot of the body."  
The two detectives exchanged a look.  
"So it wasn’t the butler..." Jack started.  
Sixsmith was almost a head taller than the victim.  
"But the guests are still in the race." Phryne concluded.

"Anything on the scandalous maid, Mr Sixsmith mentioned?"  
Jack tilted his head. The detectives had relocated into the Inspector’s office after their visit to the morgue to compare notes on this mornings investigation.  
"Apparently she didn’t spend a lot of time pining after Mark Tomlinson." he reported "According to Collins research she managed to enchant her next employer, a gentleman, who very successfully trades in cutlery, only six months after she was dismissed by Mrs Grafton and moved to Sydney two years ago."  
Phryne hummed. "Well done there." she commented dryly. "What about the Bridge ladies?"  
"I talked to the three of them this morning." Jack said, shuddering at the memory. "I doubt we will find our murderer there. Unless she was killed over a piece of pheasant that was apparently a particular point of contention and Mrs Frost had definitely seen it first. That or that second game she played last week." he recounted.  
Phryne smirked. "You’d be surprised the things a good servant is willing to do for a good piece of pheasant."  
"I have the deepest sympathies for everyone who faces off against Mr Butler then." he deadpanned. "I still don’t think even he would stab a woman with a pen, almost a week after the fact."  
"Probably not." she conceded "So that leaves our usual suspects."  
Jack nodded. "I believe that is a good line of inquiry to follow." he agreed. "Especially since it’s come to my attention that Mrs Grafton seems to have been hiding something when Hugh interviewed her on Sunday."  
Miss Fiserh’s eyebrow’s shot up.  
"Do tell." she sounded eager.  
The inspector shrugged. Again the latent sense he had failed tugged at him.  
"Unfortunately there isn’t much to tell. I went through Hugh’s report."  
"And?" she prompted.  
"Nothing. Too much nothing."  
To his relieve she nodded. He would have been at a loss to explain that rather vague feeling further.  
"Nothing where there should have been something." she supplied helpfully.  
He nodded again. "Exactly. Unfortunately now there is no way to tell if she just disliked talking to the police or if there was more to it. I stupidly didn’t think to check on Collins‘ reports at the time." he admitted.  
"It’s not your fault Jack." she instantly assured him.  
It was as if she could see how this was gnawing on him.  
"Even you can’t be expected to do everything yourself." she said, gently smoothing down his tie in a soothing gesture.  
He sighed. He knew she was right and he needed to talk to Collins about this at some point, but at the moment parts of his mind were immune to logic.  
"This fits very well with what Dot has reported on her interviews with the staff." Phryne broke through his brooding. "Apparently Mrs Grafton liked knowing things about other people."  
"You didn’t send Mrs Collins back to the house, did you?" he asked only mildly shocked.  
"Of course not. I wanted to check up on some of the stories of our suspects, Jack. She just took some tea in the kitchen while she was waiting for me. She’s a pregnant woman, she has cravings at times. And we need more information on who this woman was and why anyone wanted to kill her. Besides Dot was perfectly safe, Bert and Cec were with her all the time."  
"Ah, so the red-raggers have returned to report, too."  
He decided to let it slide. Another case of spilled milk. She grinned smugly.  
"They did and they brought news. They confirmed that Feng was already into planning his next act of revolution in the petrol plant, he even had some of the higher ranking staff on his side, when he suddenly dropped everything and turned into a nice little work ant after one conversation with Mark Tomlinson."  
"That supports your blackmailing theory, but it’s not news, Miss Fisher." Jack pointed out.  
"No, but that Mr Feng apparently attended the Abbortsford-Carlton match last week is. Bert saw him buy something at the pie cart."  
Jack frowned. "So? Plenty of people where there for that game. I was there. That‘s not suspicious, even if it was a terrible game."  
Phryne had to suppress a tender smile. He had come home that afternoon uncharacteristically agitated. Offering a vent for his frustration had been an especially rewarding experience for her.  
She brought her mind back to the present.  
"No, it isn’t, because you and Bert and plenty of people love that game. But Mr Feng is not an ardent football fan. He thinks it opium for the masses."  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Does he now?"  
"Apparently so. So what was he doing at the game?" her smiled was wide and catlike. "I think we should talk with whoever runs that pie cart. Maybe they saw something else."  
Jack tilted his head doubtfully.  
"I wouldn’t get my hopes up Miss Fisher, Chrissie Albright is very well practiced in not seeing things that happen right in front of her eyes. Especially at a football game."  
She gave him a look. "I assume she’s a regular witness in all kinds of altercations between fans?"  
"And not a generally very helpful one." he confirmed dryly.  
"I doubt she’d keep her business very long, if people had to fear she’d rat them out to cops." Phryne said.  
Jack had to agree. He didn’t have anything against the girl personally. Her food was even more edible than that of some of her colleagues at other pits, but professionally he couldn’t abide people who obviously and shamelessly lied to him. No policeman with any self-respect took well to the words ‚I didn’t see a thing‘, when the thing in question had happened three feet from the witness. He shrugged it off.  
"Well, that is your case anyways. For me right now it’s enough to know Feng had a motive. Not that I could proof he was anywhere near that church in his life."  
He sighed. Suddenly he felt the sleep he had been missing out last night. This case was increasingly frustrating. There were too many people with motives and no alibi and there were definitely too many financial records to be checked. In addition to that he had had yet another call from the Commissioner this morning who was pressing for movement in the case. Apparently the Bishop was breathing down his neck. At least he had refrained from discussing Jack’s personal life this time. So all in all he was very ready to let Phryne do what she did in the faint hopes she could pull some brilliant solution out of thin air as she often enough did. At least the second murder would give them more to work with. He almost immediately admonished himself for the thought. A woman was dead and he thought about how her death could help him. He sighed again. A bloody cynic that was what he was becoming.  
Phryne’s voice penetrated to his moment of self doubt and exhaustion.  
"You’re having an early night tonight." she declared as if he was five.  
"You know that crime waits for no man, Miss Fisher." he replied. He really was tired.  
"I think you’ll find that’s time, Inspector." she said gently. "And you need your rest, otherwise it won’t matter if they wait or not. So how about we focus on Mrs Grafton for the moment, we do what we can, after which you have a good nights rest and I will have a chat with Miss Albright tomorrow?"  
He nodded and took another deep breath, bracing himself to head onto the breach once more. What else could he do?  
"You said you were checking up on something at the house?"  
Her face brightened visibly as she saw him get back to his regular self. He rarely had those moments of being overwhelmed, especially not when working with her, but she never liked seeing them.  
"Yes, I was trying to recreate the ways our suspects say they have been taken last night." she said with a smile.  
Jack’s shoulder’s sagged a little.  
"And you found out that that only really eliminates the solicitor." he said.  
"How on earth could you know that?" she asked surprised and slightly miffed.  
He tilted his head and gave her a look. "I had a Constable check that last night, if you had paid attention. You really need to stop assuming I’m not doing my job properly, Miss Fisher."  
She was glad to hear is usually wry humour creeping back into the last sentence. It seemed the valley had been crossed and Jack was truly back.  
"I’m merely anticipating the moment when you’re not one step ahead, Inspector." she replied coyly. "And it does make Laura Beauford’s story rather unlikely. Do you really think it’s possible she hit exactly that window of time where she left the bathroom so Gregson didn’t see her and made her way to the study without seeing the murderer?"  
"Well, it is possible." Jack said "But I agree, not very likely. It could have been her husband thought, too. She might have seen him and lie. None of the servants can confirm that he went to order food."  
"So we need to find out which Beauford killed the housekeeper." Phryne smiled with anticipation. "You’ll need to bring them in again."


	16. And here comes a chopper to chop of your head

Jack was just about to call Collins to get the two Beaufords in his interview room, when the Constable made it to his office on his own volition, to report on some more of last nights findings that had only been processed by now.  
"We found this when we were searching Mrs Grafton’s room, Sir." Hugh held out a notebook. "It seems to be her personal bookkeeping." he added with the look of a long suffering man.  
Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gathering his strength before he held his hand out.  
"Thank you Collins."  
"At least it’s not much this time." the younger man said sympathetically as he handed over the ledger.  
Phryne intercepted the book without much resistance from either policeman. Neither of them really minded if they didn’t have to be the one to wade through finances this time.  
"This case really is all about money, isn’t it?" she observed.  
"It doesn’t seem like Mr Tomlinson was the type to be murdered for love." Jack said dryly. "And neither it seems was Mrs Grafton."  
"She was however the type for odd incomings." Phryne said lifting her face from the pages with a look that Jack in the privacy of his own head called the caught-a-trace-look.  
"Look, Jack." she handed him the ledger. "There are irregular sums coming in now and then on top of her wages."  
He saw it, too. The pattern was all too familiar for someone who dealt with criminals all his life.  
"Well, that confirms that: It seems Mrs Grafton shared her employer’s penchant for blackmail." he said.  
Phryne smiled widely “So we have a potential motive, if she tried to blackmail her murderer."  
Her smiled widened even more. "If we do it right and she knew something about who killed Tomlinson, we might even crack both murders with one confession."  
Jack couldn’t help be enthused by her optimism.  
"One step at a time, Miss Fisher." he cautioned none the less. "First we need to get a confession at all. To that purpose Collins" He turned to his Constable still standing in the door. "I would like you to bring in Mr and Mrs Beauford again. Both this time, if possible."  
Phryne’s eyes were sparkling. "So how do you want to do this, Jack?"

 

They decided to start with Alec this time. Jack had a distinct feeling that his wife was more likely to be the perpetrator, but he was also fairly sure the woman wouldn’t give anything away. Even if the death of the housekeeper seemed to have hit her surprisingly badly, the husband still seemed to be the weaker link.  
For a while Mr Beauford held on valiantly. He stuck to his story of going to get food. He didn’t see or meet anyone on his search for the kitchen and didn’t return until he heard his wife scream. Jack could feel Phryne next to him getting impatient.  
"When did you realise your wife had killed the housekeeper?" she asked suddenly sharply.  
Neither of them missed how Alec flinched at the accusation. He held on though.  
"I don’t know what you’re talking about." he said with an attempt at casual, only missing by a few miles.  
"We know Mrs Grafton was blackmailing her." Miss Fisher continued unimpressed.  
That was technically more than they actually knew, but it was a tried and tested method to coax someone into a confession, so Jack didn’t object. He simply kept up his poker face and watched the suspect squint under Miss Fisher’s expert interrogation. Alec Beauford shifted in his seat.  
"You and your wife are the only ones who could have killed her." Miss Fisher continued. "It’s almost impossible she didn’t see the murderer leave the study. Unless of course, she did it herself."  
Her voice was almost flirtatious now. She was offering him an end to all of this, to unburden himself. This could all be over, her voice beckoned. And he cracked.  
"She did see the murderer." he said after a long moment, his eyes falling to the table. "She said she didn’t to protect me."  
He took a deep breath and raised his head to look Miss Fisher straight in the eyes.  
"It’s as you said. The woman was blackmailing me and I killed her because I couldn’t and wouldn’t pay her anymore. Then Laura came in and screamed when she saw what I had done, before I could stop her. We couldn’t get away anymore so we pretended she had found the body and I had come after hearing her."  
He turned to the Inspector. "Please don’t punish her for it. She didn’t mean... It was my idea. I panicked; she just went along with it. She wanted to protect me." he pleaded. "Please. Ava needs her."  
Jack almost pitied the man. He wasn’t sure if he still believed he wasn’t madly in love with his wife, but neither was he sure he could avoid a charge for accessory and obstruction.

Laura Beauford jumped to her feet when her husband was brought out of the interview room by Hugh. Normally he would be taken straight to the cells, but Jack wanted his wife to see him, so he had ordered for Alec to be processed upstairs. The result was well worth it:  
“What are you doing.” she demanded.  
He wouldn’t meet her eye. “I just confessed to killing Mrs Grafton.”  
The change in Laura Beauford was instant. To Phryne’s infinite and Jack’s mild surprise, her face, until that moment hard and determined, softened and the look of love that took over was heart wrenching. She went to stand in front of her husband and very gently took his face in her hands.  
“I didn’t kill that woman so you would go and get yourself hanged, you idiot.” she said tenderly. "I did it to protect you."  
“Better me than you.” he whispered, putting his cuffed hands on top of hers as well as he could manage.  
She shook her head. “I’m a woman, I was desperate, I wouldn’t have confessed. I would have had a chance for a life sentence.” she told him, still full of tenderness. “You don’t. You will hang and I won’t let that happen.”  
She pressed a peck on his nose. Then she let go of him and straightened up. He reached for her hand.  
"Don’t Laura." he pleaded, but she was not deterred. Determination dominated her face again and her voice didn’t betray a flicker of emotion as she stated firmly:  
“Inspector Robinson, I killed Mrs Grafton.”

 

"Why did you kill Mrs Grafton?"  
It had been a long time since Jack had had anyone sitting in his interview chair with such an air of serenity.  
"She was trying to blackmail me." Laura Beauford said perfectly calm. Her face didn’t give away any kind of emotion.  
"With what?"  
"She saw us that night, before Mark died." she hesitated at the last clause.  
Only a fraction of a second but Jack noticed.  
"Would you mind elaborating Mrs Beauford? Who did Mrs Grafton see doing what and with whom?" he asked.  
Mrs Beauford took a deep breath. "She saw that Ned and I were having an affair. That night he came to my room after everyone had gone to bed and Mrs Grafton saw him leave. Well, she saw him being dragged out of my room. He really had drunk more than was good for him that evening and he passed out. I couldn’t get him to wake up."  
Her lips twitched in a sardonic smile. "I couldn’t have him be found in my room in the morning, so ..."  
"And she threatened to tell your husband?" Miss Fisher asked carefully.  
Laura turned to her with a look that was a strange mixture of pity and offishness.  
"Of course not. That would have been ridiculous. Alec helped after all."  
The two detectives exchanged a surprised glance.  
"Your husband helped carry your lover to his bed?" Miss Fisher made certain.  
"Have you ever tried to carry a fully grown man around while he is unconscious, Miss Fisher?" Mrs Beauford asked stiffly.  
Phryne tried to suppress a smile. Jack could feel her eyes flicker towards him and very firmly decided not to blush. From the heat he felt in his ears his body didn’t care about his decision. Their suspect didn’t seem to notice either of their reactions.  
"They’re rather heavy. I knew I couldn’t carry him by myself, so I called for Mina, my maid, but even with the two of us it was no good. So we got Alec. The three of us just about managed it without waking the whole house. Or so we thought."  
"And your husband had no problem helping you dispose of your lover?" Jack asked, probably a little more coarsely than he had been a moment before.  
"Alec and I have an arrangement." she explained calmly. "Everything I told you about us is true: I love Alec more than anyone else in the world. But I’m not in love with him. Not any more. We both had broken out wedding vows early on, during the war and after we agreed to a certain openness in our relationship. Ned and I became intimate a few months ago for the first time; we continued our affair casually when we had the chance. Alec knew."

It took a moment even for Phryne to process that information. She was generally a very open minded person, but she didn’t have much experience with committed relationships. Whatever she did have didn’t indicate such a model could work. At least not while an emotional connection was involved and even otherwise it seemed difficult. Jealousy was always a factor that needed to be accounted for, even in the best of men, and women, if she was being perfectly honest with herself. To her utter surprise Jack seemed to get back on his feet faster than her and continued the interrogation as if he had heard nothing he hadn’t already known.  
"If your husband knew, who did Mrs Grafton threaten to tell?" he asked.  
Mrs Beauford shrugged. It was an odd gesture for her, too informal to go with the elegant and graceful woman she appeared to be. But then, Phryne thought, an open marriage and an affair with Ned Tevis didn’t seem to fit for her either.  
"She never got to that point, I’m afraid. My daughter probably, or the papers. We’ve been trying to be discreet about it. We might be fine with how we dealt with things, but there are reputations at stake after all. But it didn’t really matter to me at that moment. When she cornered me in the study and told me all she knew, it was perfectly clear what she was threatening. We’ve had friends who’ve been blackmailed, Inspector. So I knew. It never ends, it only get’s worse and worse and worse. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not because Ned Tevis couldn’t hold his liquor."  
The last sentence came out a little more irate than anything she had said so far. She was still vey much in control of her features, but the anger underneath was palpable.  
"So you killed her." Jack concluded.  
"So I killed her." she confirmed. "I waited until she turned her back on me, grabbed a pen from the desk and stabbed her in the throat with it. I dropped her to the ground and waited until she stopped breathing. Then I screamed." she tilted her head for a moment in contemplation.  
"Maybe I should have kept quiet. If I had pretended like she wasn’t there, she might not have been found until the morning and I could have convinced you that she died after I came to the study." she said. “Too bad that idea didn’t occur to me at the time.”  
She still seemed utterly at peace, as if she was discussing nothing more then the cooking arrangements for a dinner party.


	17. To ring the bells of London Town

Phryne left Jack to wrap up the paperwork on Mrs Grafton’s murder for the rest of the afternoon. She was still somewhat reeling from the arrest and had not hidden her uneasiness after Laura’s confession:  
"Something’s off about her story." she had decided.  
"You don’t think she killed her?" Jack had raised an eyebrow.  
"Oh, no, I absolutely believe she did." Miss Fisher contradicted. "Just her reasoning is off. Like the way she told us about it. Here’s a woman who had cold bloodedly, without a moment’s hesitation, killed someone with a fountain pen to keep her secret affair a secret and now she simply tells us about it like there’s nothing to it."  
"Maybe she figured it would come out anyways and couldn’t be a bigger scandal than the murder itself." Jack suggested.  
Phryne had just given him a look.  
"And then that affair itself. Even if it was going to be a scandal, was it worth killing for? And Ned Tevis? I’m sorry Jack, I just can’t see it."  
The tilt of his head had been a question. "He seemed just the type to me." Jack noted.  
Phryne shook her head. "I don’t know Jack. I was never close to Ned but I always got the impression..." she hesitated, lost in thought for a moment.  
"Yes?" he probed when she didn‘t continue.  
"You know his friendship with Guy has considerably cooled since his marriage to Isabella." she said apropos nothing.  
"That’s been known to happen." he replied. "Especially when the friends live on different continents."  
"Yes, yes, of course," had her dismissively reply been "but Ned was always very close to Guy. Whereas, whenever I met him it felt like..."  
"Your powder was wasted?" he had finally caught on to her meaning.  
"Exactly. So you’ll excuse me if I’m surprised he is suddenly supposed to have an affair with Laura Beauford."  
Jack had raised a teasing eyebrow.  
"Maybe you’re just not his type." he hinted.  
She had given him the same look he had given her earlier when telling her he knew how to do his job.  
"We should definitely have a word with Mr Tevis though." he had conceded.

Ned had seemed unduly nervous about his interview this time. He had visibly tensed up when Jack asked about his affair with Laura Beauford.  
"Did Laura tell you that?" he had asked hesitantly.  
"She has." The Inspector confirmed. "She also said that she, her maid and her husband carried you back to your bed from her room the night Mark Tomlinson died."  
Tevis nodded slowly. "That is a distinct possibility." he had agreed rather vaguely.  
"The fact is, Inspector, I didn’t lie when I told you I didn’t remember much that night. I don’t. I have no earthly idea how I got into my bed. But it’s true that I tend to get rather... amorous when I drink, so it’s possible that I did follow her to her room." he had admitted.  
"How long has your affair gone on?"  
Ned had wiggled his head thoughtfully. "Not sure, a few months on and off. We were keeping it casual. After all it’s not like anything’s going to come of it."  
"Where you aware her husband knew about the two of you?" Phryne had interceded.  
Tevis had shrugged. "I assumed. She insisted we had to keep up appearances in public, but assured me everything else would be alright. I think they had some kind of arrangement. I didn’t parade it in front of his nose and he didn’t ask."  
He sighed deeply. "So Laura did in the housekeeper because she saw us. Pfff." he blew out his breath. "I’d have never thought her the type. I mean, I knew she was a mother bear sometimes, but that...." he shook his head. "Shame about her. Poor Alec must be devastated."

The fourth interview, with Mrs Beauford’s maid, had been quick and rather painful: Mina Walton had generally corroborated the Beaufords’ story about the night in question. A woman in her forties, she had been in Laura Beauford’s employ for 23 years and was fiercely loyal to her mistress. She had known Mrs Grafton from their visits at Tomlinson’s and apparently hadn’t liked her much.  
"I should have know." she said "Nosy person that she was. We were staying at the house a few years back, when the story with that poor girl happened. For the whole week we were there she made her do double the work with no more pay, so she wouldn’t dismiss her. Of course she sacked the poor girl anyways."  
In the end she didn’t have much to contribute other than affirm the motive.  
That left Jack with protocols of the four interviews to deal with before he was done for the day and Phryne gladly left him to it. She hoped he would be done by dinner and had told him so. As much as she had loved him showing up the previous night unannounced, she was under no illusion this would be a regular occurrence if they left things the way they were. She hadn’t had the chance to talk to him about Mr Butler’s idea and she wasn’t quite sure she was ready for it either. She was fairly certain he would need some convincing to agree to that plan and she didn’t feel ready to argue for an institution she had been firmly set against for decades. So she decided to wrap up that case first and sort out everything else when that was over. It seemed like a reasonable plan. But it didn’t mean she wanted to sleep alone in the meantime.

 

Jack had told her where she could find Chrissie Albright even on days when there wasn’t a footy game on. Apparently she took her pie cart around Flinders Street Station on weekdays, so that was where Phryne headed. It took her about ten minutes to locate the cart with the girl inside in the busy station.  
She went to peruse the goods on offer while discreetly observing the girl. She seemed a little younger than Dot, although Dot had probably gained ten years in maturity since she had become Mrs Hugh Collins, so Phryne couldn’t be entirely sure. Chrissie Albright was pretty, in an everyday sort of way. She had hair the colour of straw, carefully braided and tucked neatly around her head, and warm dark brown eyes.  
"Sustenance for the journey, Ma’am?" she offered when Miss Fisher approached the cart.  
Phryne smiled her most charming smile.  
"Aren’t you the one supplying sustenance at the Abbotsford pit? I seem to remember you from the last time my fiancé dragged me to a game." she asked with a light laughter.  
She tried not to flinch at the way her thoughts instantly jumped to Jack at the word fiancé. She found herself surprised at the thought that she could get used to calling him that.  
Miss Albright nodded. "Yes, Miss. That’d be me. Hope that won’t turn you off me cart." she gave a charming little laugh at her own joke.  
Phryne joined in. "Of course not." she assured her. "I also seem to remember Feng Huang at that game. I was quite surprised to see him there; he’s not a footy fan as far as I know."  
She had said it as casually as she could, but with enough intent to make it clear she wasn’t just making small talk. The girl visibly closed up like an oyster. Another acute case of shellfisheritis, Phryne thought wryly, interesting.  
"I wouldn’t know Miss." Chrissie said, all laughter now gone from her face. "There’s lots of customers on game days. Get’s real busy. Some days I’ve barely time to look people in the face."  
"Well, he would have stood out" Phryne said. "He’s Chinese."  
Chrissie’s mouth tightened even more.  
"Can’t say I remember, Miss." she said stubbornly.  
"Well, that’s too bad, because he was seen at your cart during the game, talking to you."  
The girl gave a shrug, but didn’t say anything. So intimidation didn’t work, not that Phryne was surprised about that. Running this cart Miss Albright was probably facing down worse things than Lady Detectives with a vague hunch, every day. So she changed her tactics.  
"I want to help him. He’s being blackmailed, Chrissie." she said imploringly.  
The response was more passionate than she had expected:  
"Look, I don’t know him, alright? And I don’t have time for this. Buy something or leave me alone." the girl lashed out in a snotty manner that was completely at odds with her earlier attitude.  
Phryne assessed her for a moment. Underneath her angry demeanour she could sense the pain and fear in the younger woman. Her hands were clenched around the counter and her lower lip was trembling dangerously, even as she pushed out her chin in defiance. Phryne took a leap.  
"It’s hard loving a man, when you can’t be seen to do so." she said calmly.  
Her own thoughts unbidden fluttering back to the first weeks back in Melbourne, when they still had to figure out how to continue their dance in a familiar environment. And yesterday’s lunch, of course, which still lit a fire of righteous anger in her stomach.  
Chrissie eyed her sceptically. "What would you know?" she muttered petulantly.  
Phryne swallowed down her own ire. After that case is dealt with, she told herself. Instead she decided attack was the best defence.  
"I know you love him." she stated a little more confident than she was in that statement. But the signs were clearly there, so it wasn’t a complete shot in the dark. "Can’t be easy, him being who he is." she added.  
Chrissie tried a last line of defence. "Why do you care?" she asked still suspicious.  
"I’m a friend of Camellia Lin’s." Phryne replied.  
It was instantly clear mentioning her friends name was a mistake. Chrissie resiled immediately.  
"Camellia is a kind person and I’m sure she’ll understand. Her first husband was a communist in China." Phryne tried to sooth the girl.  
Chrissie shook her head almost frantically. "You can’t tell her." she pleaded. "Please."

There wasn’t much more needed for the dam to break and for Chrissie to come out with everything. She and Huang had met at a party meeting and had fallen in love. But of course true love’s course never did run smoothly.  
"It’s his auntie, Lin Luózé. It’s only with her support he can live the life he wants. He can organise the strikes and rallies, without worrying about loosing his job. But she would never approve of someone like me."  
"A communist?" Phryne asked sympathetically.  
Chrissie shrugged. "A communist, a white girl, a worker. I’m everything she doesn’t want for him. He was afraid she’d cut him off if she found out, so we’ve been keeping it a secret. Somehow his boss found out and was threatening to tell her if Huang made any trouble. He was still trying to find a solution. He still is."

 

That night they were quiet, lost in thought. Jack was still mulling over Laura Beauford’s confession and Phryne over what she had learned that afternoon. She told him about Chrissie Albright and Feng Huang.  
"Good motive." was all he had said about it.  
She wasn’t sure if he, too, was reminded of their own situation, or if he was just concerned because even that new information didn’t change much in their situation with the case. They had already known Feng had a motive, just not what exactly it was. Knowing didn’t much change how the facts were looking in this case. So they continued their brooding in companionable silence.  
"I might go back to the tower tomorrow morning." Jack said after a while.  
Phryne looked up.  
"I thought you already cleared the crime scene." she asked.  
He nodded. "We did. But I don’t know where else to turn right now. Maybe we overlooked something, or maybe someone saw someone leave the tower. Someone we haven’t talked to yet. There must be something."  
"Already grasping at straws, Inspector?"  
She tried to tease him, but he didn’t smile. Instead he was rubbing his forehead like he was getting a headache.  
"I may." he admitted. "There’s just too many suspects and too little evidence. I could arrest any of them and make a decent case for it and it would never get to court without a confession, only I don’t have enough to get a confession." he sighed deeply.  
Phryne took his hand. "So you do what you always do, you revise what you have, check and then check again."  
To her relieve he gave her a wry smile.  
"That’s indeed what I always do. So where will you be breaking and entering, since that’s what you always do?"  
"Not always, Jack." she insisted with a coy smile. "I’ve been good lately, almost law abiding."  
Now a proper grin threatened to break over his face.  
"I noticed."  
She grinned back. "See, you’ve almost made me an upstanding citizen. So much for not wanting me to change." she joked.  
He made to defend himself against such an accusation, even in jest, but she continued before he could get a word in edgewise.  
"And so I will go with you to have another look at the crime scene. Before I break and enter anywhere." she added with a wink.

 

They were met by Paulson the bell ringer again the next morning after the morning chimes. Ridiculously early in Phryne’s book, but Jack had promised to take her to breakfast after, which was an offer she had accepted, at least after Mr Butler had provided her with a cup of strong coffee. Paulson was less nervous this time, but still very cordial when talking to them.  
"I’m just glad we can go back up. Thank you again, Inspector." he told them.  
"There is nothing to thank me for, Mr Paulson." Jack assured him. "Our investigation of the crime scene was finished. It’s just my personal curiosity bringing me back here."  
He looked up the tower again.  
"I know you’ve told my constables already, but just to make sure, you’re certain you don‘t remember anyone in the tower that morning, no one going up when you were leaving or leaving after Mr Tomlinson had been found?"  
Jack could tell the man was genuinely thinking about it, which he appreciated greatly. Unfortunately he came up empty none the less. The bell ringer could only shrug.  
"’pologies, Sir. I’ve been wrecking me ‘ead ever since, but I can’t remember a thing. I’ve made a habit of looking about, when I’m going up to ring now, but "he shrugged again. "Too little too late, I s’pose."  
"Better late than never." Phryne contradicted him gently.  
Jack nodded. No one could blame Paulson for anything. He couldn’t have known there was a dead man tied up hidden under the bells.  
"Thank you, Mr Paulson." he said politely.  
Phryne followed his eyes yet again wandering up the spire.  
"The tower is fairly new, isn’t it?" she asked.  
Paulson nodded. "Only just finished last year." he agreed.  
"Where did you work before?" she inquired curiously. "I can’t imagine there is a lot of turnover in your position."  
He shook his head chuckling. "There isn’t Miss. Ringer is mostly a lifetime job. I’ve been over in Richmond before the war, but I’ve been with my girls ’ere for about ten years now. Before the tower was done them bells were hanging in the nave. We had one hell of a time gettin‘ folks out for the ringings. That’s all better now, with a proper belfry and all. And the tower seems to be holding nicely, too."  
"Right, you mentioned you’d have to see how much the tower can take." Miss Fisher remembered. "What did you mean by that?"  
The bell ringer gave her a surprised look, before he remembered.  
"Oh, they sway Miss. The bells, they make 'em sway." He hesitated for a moment.  
"I’m no good with physics Miss, but it happens somehow. Because the sound is so loud and so strong, it shakes the tower."  
Phryne frowned for a moment as she took in that piece information, the accuracy of which Jack could only feel deeply sceptical about. But then suddenly her face lit up like a Christmas tree.  
"The volume, of course. That’s it Jack!" she exclaimed excitedly.  
He could only stare at her "Care to explain Miss Fisher?"  
"The murder weapon, Jack. He was killed by the bells."  
He still didn’t look like he was convinced by her theory or had even understood it enough to have an opinion, so she pushed forward.  
"Just think, Jack. Physically sound is nothing other than pressure, so the louder the sound, the higher the pressure. The sound from those bells may not actually be enough make a building oscillate, but the sound can be heard for miles. Which means it’s extraordinarily loud. What do you think that kind of pressure would do to a human body that was placed right underneath them?"  
"Oh, you don’t wanna do that Miss" Paulson chimed in. "You mustn’t ever stand underneath a bell while there’s a clapper in it. It’ll make your brain melt when they go of. That’s why we lock the tower when we’re ringing."  
Jack’s eyes had widened during her explanation and even more when the ringer unwittingly corroborated her theory, even if not exactly by adding anything scientifically correct.  
"That’s actually a possibility, isn’t it?" he said stunned for a moment, looking at her with utter admiration before he collected himself. "Do you think Mac could conffirm that?"

Elisabeth MacMillan was in a similar state of shock as Jack had been, when Phryne explained her idea to her.  
"That is by far the most absurd thing I have ever had the misfortune of hearing." she declared firmly. "And the worst part is, it could be true."  
Phryne beamed. "You think that could have killed him?" she asked.  
Mac nodded slowly. "I’m not a physicist, but yes, I think so. Church bells are powerful instruments; the sheer volume of the sound could probably squeeze your brain out of your ears. It would definitely put a lot of physical stress on a body."  
"Stress that would be consistent with Tomlinson’s injuries?" Jack asked.  
"Pew" Mac blew a gust of air out "I couldn’t rightly tell you. I’d need to check with someone from the physics department and refer to some books. But I wouldn’t be surprised if the answer was yes." she added, taking pity on the Inspector.  
Jack only shook his head. "Sometimes I would really like to borrow that brilliant brain of yours." he said to Phryne. "Just to see what it’s like."  
She beamed at him. "My brain is always at your disposal Inspector. On the condition that it can come with me attached." she added with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the tower’s and the bells’ history, see chapters 1 and 5 respectively.  
> Paulson is right in one regard: He really is no good with physics. Bells can actually make the bell tower oscillate, quite a bit in fact, but it’s not the sound that does it, rather than the swing frequency, if it correlates with the towers resonance. This can actually compromise the towers structural integrity, but can easily be fixed by adding extra weight to the bell to change the swing frequency. 
> 
> If you stand directly under a ringing church bell that will most certainly kill you. And I wanted to write (or read) a crime story where someone got killed that way ever since I learned about that fact. What I couldn’t work out however, was if it would be the resonance or the volume that kills you. My physicist friends couldn’t agree. It’s either one or the other, possibly both.  
> I’m also not sure the injuries I described in chapter 5 are in any way consistent with this kind of trauma, they're just what I imagine them to be like.The blood from the crime scene would probably come from torn eardrums and the like.


	18. Chip chop, chip chop the last man is dead

It hadn’t taken Mac long to confirm that, yes, it was not only distinctly possible, but more than likely that Mark Tomlinson had died from extended exposure to multifrequency noise at a tremendous volume. Or in short, because he had been positioned under a ringing church bell. She was still processing that turn of events and apparently fighting off several colleagues who were eager to use the case for study, when she called Jack with that result. He thanked her, assuring her he was equally stunned by that reveal as she.  
"That certainly makes for the most unusual murder weapon either of us is likely to come across in our careers." the doctor surmised.  
In his head Jack weighed church bells against dart shot from a trumpet, whine barrel, strategically placed spider and electrical massager, but had to admit they were high up the list. Unfortunately that meant that technically the murderer was Paulson the bell ringer, who at the very least was guilty of negligence, for not checking the belfry before ringing, but Jack decided to ignore that side of events for the moment. The real question was still who had put Tomlinson there and he didn’t feel any closer to the answer than he had been on Sunday. Now it was Friday and already past lunchtime.  
Phryne of course was glowing with pride when he told her about Mac’s findings.  
"Whatever would you do without me, Jack?" she asked and grinned coquettish.  
"Doesn’t even warrant the thought, Miss Fisher." he replied.  
Her smiled warmed at his words. He never had a problem admitting when she was clever, possibly cleverer than him, which was a rare trait in a man in her experience and she cherished it all the more.  
"So what now Jack?"  
He gave her a long look, before he leaned forward and rubbed his hands together.  
"Now, Miss Fisher we work it out." he decided grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.  
He had the distinct feeling that they had all the information in front of them, even if none of it seemed to help with the murderer. But in Jack’s experience that only meant he hadn’t looked at it the right way.  
"Our suspects were: Father Morris, Mr Feng, Mrs and Mr Beauford, Mr Madden and Mr Tevis."  
He wrote down the names.  
"Father Morris has a near impenetrable alibi and no real motive." Miss Fisher pointed out.  
"Mr Feng has a strong motive and no alibi, but no real connection to the crime scene." Jack noted.  
"The church seems an unlikely meeting point for them and I can’t imagine Feng would bring him there."  
Phryne nodded. "I agree, the factory would have made much more sense and it’s unlikely no one would have noticed Feng at the church. He’d have stuck out.  
“David Madden on the other hand has a motive and wouldn’t have any trouble getting Tomlinson to the church. But if he had killed him he wouldn’t have waited until the police were in the house to go through the study." she spun her thoughts further.  
Jack made more notes and nodded.  
"The Beaufords have the strongest motive and the opportunity. But I still don’t think it makes sense that Mrs Beauford denies killing Tomlinson now she’s confessed the murder on Mrs Grafton. Not unless she didn’t do it."  
Phryne shook her head. "It’s not very plausible she did. She needed the help of two people to get Ned back to his room, I can’t imagine she’d manage to drag Tomlinson to the top of the tower on her own." she pointed out.  
He had to agree. "And if it had been her husband she would definitely have confessed. Which leaves Mr Tevis."  
Phryne snorted. "Ned, who has an alibi and no motive at all. You’re right, he’d definitely be the killer in a penny dreadful."  
Jack frowned and looked down at his notes.  
"He really doesn’t have a motive." he mused. "He’s the only one." he looked up at her. "How often does that happen, everyone has a reason to kill the victim except for one suspect?"  
Phryne shrugged. "There are often people who don’t have a motive for murder."  
"Yes" he agreed. "People, plural, not just one person."  
She huffed in frustration. "Alright, it’s rare. But it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t have a motive."  
"Unless" Jack was suddenly struck with an epiphany  
"Unless it wasn’t Laura Beauford who had the affair with Ned Tevis."  
Phryne frowned for a moment, before her eyes cleared, as well.  
"She said she did it to protect him." she remembered.  
Jack nodded. He had noticed that little slip as well.  
"It would explain why he married her." he added. "Why they didn’t share a bedroom, had any more children, the whole arrangement of their marriage."  
"And it would fit with my suspicion about Ned." Phryne pointed out. "It also makes for a much better motive for murdering the housekeeper. An affair is a scandal, but hardly worth killing for. If Mrs Grafton saw them carry Ned out of Mr Beauford’s room on the other hand..."  
Jack agrred. "She protected him from a criminal charge."  
"I thought there was something off about this whole story." Miss Fisher huffed, not completely without satisfaction. But Jack was already thinking further ahead:  
"That would also give Ned Tevis a motive for killing Tomlinson." he speculated.  
Phryne raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Do you think he knew?" she asked.  
"He figured out Feng’s biggest secrets within a week, something that took you days, good connections to the commos of this town and a bit of blind luck." he pointed out.  
"Are you discrediting my investigative talents Inspector?" she objected.  
The quirk of his mouth could almost count as a smile.  
"Quite the opposite Miss Fisher. I’m measuring Mr Tomlinson’s against them. The point however is: If he knew this about a man he had only just hired, how likely do you think it is he didn’t know something that big about a man he’s known for years? And if he did, how likely is it he didn’t use it?"  
Phryne had to agree on that point. One thing they knew about Mark Tomlinson was that he didn’t let any personal attachment cloud his shrewd business sense.  
"It also gives a strong motive to Alec Beauford." she stated. "Another."  
But Jack shook his head. "If he had, I’m fairly sure his wife would have confessed that, too. There would be no point in keeping that, if she wanted to save him from gaol."  
"Unless she thought we wouldn’t figure it out." Phryne pointed out.  
"I don’t think she’d take the risk. As soon as she is behind bars she has no more means to influence our investigation if it comes to it. She couldn’t keep her husband from blabbing."  
"She might not know." Phryne suggested. "And anyways Ned has an alibi."  
"Only until what, two in the morning?" Jack disagreed. "That’s when the Beaufords left him in his room. Tomlinson was murdered hours later."  
"They left him in his room stone drunk after he had passed out in his lover’s bed." Phryne exclaimed.  
Jack merely tilted his head. "I though we agreed Miss Fisher that a good faint, like anything else, can be faked."  
She had to concede to that, if only begrudgingly. Jack was on a roll though. He dug up his notes on Tomlinson’s finances and scanned through them.  
"Ah here." he said after a moment. "We have regular payments from Edward Tevis to the company account of Tomlinson Ltd."  
Phryne perked up. "Why didn’t you say that earlier?" she inquired.  
"I assumed it was a silent partnership of sorts, since the payment’s occurred regularly and went into the company account not Tomlinson’s private account."  
"Maybe it is." she suggested.  
"Or he is clever enough not to put his blackmailing money into his personal account, but wash it through the company. Since he profited off its revenues it wouldn’t have made much difference to him personally."  
She nodded understandingly. "Have you asked Ned about it?"  
Jack shook his head. "We didn’t have a reason. He had no motive and claimed to have been out cold all night."

 

"You made regular payments to Tomlinson’s company Mr Tevis. Why?" Jack started the third interview with Edward Tevis.  
Ned smiled, but it looked a little tired.  
"I was wondering when that would come up." he stated. "I was investing in his company."  
"The thing is Ned," Phryne said from her place next to the window "if you had been investing you’d have expected some kind of payout. But there has never been a single penny paid from the company or Tomlinson’s private account to you."  
She, Jack and Hugh had poured over the financial records for several hours to make sure of this. And after several checks and re-checks they were. Ned never had been given any money by his friend.  
He tried to shrug it off. "My payout was not the financial kind." he said easily. "It was more the favour for a favour kind. I helped him fill a few holes and he helped me out in other ways."  
"Like not telling anyone about your little secret?" Phryne asked.  
Both detectives noticed his eyes flickering to the Inspector for a split second before he responded to her accusation. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."  
Phryne thought it must have sounded hollow to his own ears. She willed herself not to roll her eyes.  
"I always wondered why you hated Isabella so much. Makes perfect sense now."  
Ned visibly tensed. "There’s no secret there. That woman is a dreadful bore who thinks herself outrageous because she’s too dim-witted to tell the difference between daring and vulgar." he said, maybe more sharply than he had intended.  
Phryne regarded him with an almost pitying look.  
"I’m not quite sure Guy knows the difference either." she pointed out gently.  
"Guy is..." Ned burst out, before he caught himself. He bit his lip.  
"You loved him, didn’t you?" Phryne asked ever so gently.  
He shook his head defiantly, but to Jack it looked more like he was trying to convince himself. Like if he denied it long enough it wasn’t real. He knew the urge. But Phryne keep on pressing, carefully but relentlessly, that, too was very familiar.  
"Did Mark Tomlinson find out?"  
"No!" Ned squeezed out. "Not about Guy."  
He sighed deeply as he looked between the two detectives, doubt written all over their faces.  
"He had gotten his hands on someone I... I’d been with. Said he could make him go to the papers or the police whenever he wanted to if I didn’t pay him."  
"But Ned, those payments have been going on for years." Phryne said tentatively.  
He gave her a withering look.  
"Yes."  
Jack took the opportunity to take over the questioning.  
"So what changed?"  
Ned turned away from Phryne and to the policeman. He seemed to hesitate a moment, as if he had only been confessing so far, because he had been talking to Phryne, as if it didn’t count if he was talking to a civilian. Then he apparently convinced himself it did and Jack could almost see him shrug off his hesitance mentally before answering.  
"The crash of course." he said impassively. "My family had to cut down my allowance and I lost a good deal myself. I couldn’t afford paying Mark anymore. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He just didn’t care, I guess. Or he needed the money, I don’t know. But he wouldn’t budge. Not an inch."  
"So you came up with a plan." Phryne said.  
He nodded.  
"How did you get him to the church at night?" Jack asked to get him started.  
"I’d written a note. Telling him I knew something about goings on in the plant. All made up of course, but I knew he couldn’t pass up that bait, not with that Chinese commo around. The note said to meet on top of the bell tower at three am."  
"So you played drunk and seduced Alec Beauford to get an alibi."  
Ned nodded. "I didn’t want him to suspect me, so I pretended to get wasted and pass out on Alec. Poor dear. He panicked properly, but I knew he would never leave me in his bed where I could be discovered. I made sure we didn’t leave at the same time so he couldn’t say I hadn‘t made it to my room. Of course he called his wife. God knows how Laura has dealt with him all this time. It was quite funny actually, how they struggled, the tree of them, to get me into my bed without waking the entire house. Although they did nearly pull my shoulder." he grimaced. "I left about half an hour after they had left me and headed for the church."  
"You waited for him?" Jack prompted.  
Another nod.  
"I waited and hid in the belfry and when he came I hit him over the head with a piece of timber I found on the construction site. He never even saw me. I tied him up and left him there."  
There was no trace of amusement left on Ned’s face now. His hands trembled and when he looked up at Phryne he was pleading with her.  
"I never meant to kill him. I just wanted to give him a good scare, lock him in that tower over night. Show him what it feels like to be helpless at someone else’s mercy. Have him taste some of his own medicine. I thought the bell ringer would surely find him in the morning and if not I was ready to release him. So I snuck up there when everyone had gone inside and they were praying or whatnot and I wanted to let him go. Only he was dead. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but he was dead. And I panicked."  
"So you untied him and threw him off the tower." Phryne concluded the story.  
"I suppose I thought maybe they’d think he killed himself. Maybe he’d lost money, like everyone else. I only realised later how stupid that was. Mark would have never killed himself." Tevis sagged onto the table.


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue. Because what would a case be without a post-case drink? And of course there is still a delicate domestic matter to be dealt with.

"Seems like this was one of the rare cases where it was both about love and money." Jack observed.  
He was leaning against his usual place at her mantle, a glass of whiskey in hand and a small contented smile on his lips. He found himself yet again immeasurably glad that their post-case rituals hadn’t changed when they had finally become more than friends and colleagues. It had maybe been expanded a little, he thought, his smile widening a fraction. Phryne took her place opposite him and smiled back equally contented.  
"Never let it be said the two are exclusive." she said. "Though not the kind of love I would usually think about in regards to murder." she added thoughtful.  
"I’d have thought you of all people could understand the need to protect one’s friends." he said curiously.  
"I do." she assured him. "If this had been me and Mac, I might have been where Laura Beauford is now. Except" the smile returned to her face "I’d have you."  
He quirked a teasing eyebrow. "To dispose of the body, you mean?"  
"To help me sort it out without bloodshed." she laughed and slapped him lightly on the shoulder.  
She took a sip of her whiskey and turned serious again.  
"It seems almost unbelievable that we have one case where a murder was committed to protect a friend and on the other side a man murdered his friend because he was blackmailing him."  
"One friendship gone too far, and one not far enough." Jack agreed.  
"And poor Alec Beauford the man left standing with his wife and his lover headed for the gallows. You not going to charge him, are you?"  
Jack shook his head. "There is no real evidence against him." he pointed out. "His wife maintains to having the affair with Ned and Mr Tevis has amended his confession towards that, too. So even if I wanted to arrest him I couldn’t. And his daughter will need him."  
Phryne nodded. She took a step closer and sneaked her arms around his neck.  
"You’re a good man, Jack Robinson." she said and kissed him lovingly.  
He returned the kiss and pulled her closer.  
"I’m just not a cruel man." he replied.  
She smiled up at him "Sometimes that can be the same." she said.

Suddenly a twinkle appeared in her eyes that indicated a shift in her mood.  
"I may have found a solution for our own little dilemma." she said stroking his lapels.  
"Have you now?"  
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth "That was quick work Miss Fisher."  
"Well" she confessed "to be perfectly honest, it was Mr Butler who suggested it."  
"Mr Butler? And what did he suggest?"  
Jack did not make the mistake of questioning how Mr Butler would know of, what she called, their little dilemma. He knew the man too well for that and the last months with Phryne had taught him to be forever grateful he was on their side.  
"He suggested an engagement."  
Jack knitted his brows in confusion for a moment and Phryne could see the gears turning in his mind.  
"An engagement, not a marriage." he realised a moment later and she was seriously torn between pride and annoyance at the fact that he had worked it out so quickly while she hadn’t. He really was on fire today.  
"Exactly."  
Jack nodded slowly. "That’s rather ingenious." he admitted.  
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "You’d be up for it?"  
He tilted his head slightly.  
"If I remember correctly, I’m not the one averse to institutions in this relationship, Miss Fisher." he said with an amused glint in his eyes.  
"Well Jack, I think an engagement, always understood that it would not inevitably lead to marriage, may be just little enough of an institution that I could cope with it. If you agreed of course." she declared. "Just one candle, so to speak."  
For a moment he looked at her with an intoxicating mixture of adoration, exasperation and excitement. Then suddenly his smile turned sly.  
"Very well, Miss Fisher. Now where is my ring?"  
She was taken aback. "What on earth are you talking about, Jack?"  
He gave her a mock admonishing look.  
"When you’re getting engaged it is customary to present a ring and I believe you have just proposed to me, Miss Fisher."  
His eyes were sparkling with laughter.  
"I did not!" she exclaimed, now grinning, too.  
The tilt of his head said everything. It was that tilt and the who-do-you-think-you’re-fooling look he had perfected so early on in their acquaintance. She could never withstand it.  
"Alright, maybe I have." she conceded with a mock pout. "But if anyone’s getting a ring it’s me. And if you expect me to go down on a knee you can grow old and die waiting for that to happen."  
With a wide smile Jack wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer.  
"I would never expect something like that, Miss Fisher." he assured her.  
"Alright them" she fixed her eyes on his "Jack Robinson, will you be my fiancé, through good and bad times and for as long as we both can bear it?"  
"Nothing would make me happier." he said and sealed the engagement with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it. I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Thank you for reading, to everyone who subscribed, commented and left kudos.  
> A very big special Thank You to Quiltingmom, your daily comments made this so much more fun 😘😘😘


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